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1 Vol., 12mo., cloth, gilt. $1.00 

1 “ “ paper , 50 

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HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


V 



By T. T. MEADE, 

y I 

AUTHOR OF “ WATER GYPSIES,” “ MOTHER HERRING’S 
CHICKENS,” ETC. 


' hi:, 

0 * * 



NEW YORK : 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street. 



0 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RICH CHARLOTTE. * 

The room had three occupants, two were men, the third 
a woman. The men were middle-aged and gray-haired, the 
woman on the contrary was in the prime of youth ; she was 
finely made, an4 well proportioned. Her face was perhaps 
rather too pale, but the eyes and brow were noble, and the 
sensitive mouth showed indications of heart as well as intel- 
lect. 

The girl, or rather young woman, for she was past five- 
and twenty, sat by the fire, a book On her knee. The two 
men had drawn chairs close to a table. The elder of these 
men bore such an unmistakable likeness to the girl, that even 
the most casual observer must have guessed the relationship 
which existed between them. He was a handsome man, 
handsomer even than his daughter, but the same individuali- 
ties marked both faces. While, however, in the woman all 
was a profound serenity and calm, the man had some anx- 
ious lines round the mouth, and some expression, now com- 
ing, now going, in the fine gray eyes, which betokened a 
long-felt anxiety. 

The other and younger man was shrewd-looking and 
commonplace ; but a very close observer of human nature 
might have said, “ He may be commonplace, but do not feel 
too certain ; he simply possesses one of those faces which 


6 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


express nothing, from which not the cleverest detective in 
Scotland Yard could extract any secret/’ 

He was a man with plenty to say, and much hurr^ir, and 
at the moment this story opens he was laughing merrily and/ 
in a heart-whole way, and his older and graver companion 
listened with evident enjoyment. 

The room in which the three sat bore evidence of wealth. 
It was a library, and handsome books lay on the tables, and 
rare old folios could ha^e been found by those who cared to 
look within the carefully locked bookcases. Some manu- 
scripts were scattered about, and by the girl’s side, on a 
small table, lay several carefully revised proofs, and even 
now she was bending earnestly over a book of reference. 

“Well, Jasper,” said the elder man, when the younger 
paused for an instant in his eager flow of words, “ we have 
talked long enough about that fine land you have just come 
from, for even Australian adventures can keep — I am inter- 
ested in something nearer home. What do you say to Char- 
' lotte there ? She was but a baby when you saw her last.” 

“She was five years old,” replied Jasper. “A saucy 
little imp, bless you ! just the kind that would be sure to 
grow into a fine woman. But to tell the truth I don’t much 
care to look at her, for she makes me feel uncommonly old 
and shaky.” 

“ You gave me twenty years to grow into a woman, uncle,” 
answered the pleasant voice of Charlotte Harman. “ I 
could not choose but make good use of the time.” 

“ So you have, lass — so you have ; I have been growing 
old and you have been growing beautiful ; such is life ; but 
never mind, your turn will come.” 

“ But not for a long long time, Lottie my pet,” inter- 
rupted the father. “You need not mind your uncle Jasper. 
These little speeches were always his way. And I’ll tell you 
something else, Jasper ; that girl of mine has a head worth 
owning on her shoulders, a head she knows how to use. You 
will not believe me when I say that she writes in this magi- 
zine and this, and she is getting a book ready for the press ; 
ay, and there’s another thing. Shall I tell it, Charlotte ? ” 

“ Yes, father; it is no secret,” replied Charlotte. 

“It is this, brother Jasper ; you have come home in time 
for a wedding. My girl is going to leave me. I shall miss 
her, for she is womanly in the best sense of the word, and 
she is my only one ; but there is a comfort — the man she is 
to marry is worthy of her.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


7 

“ And there is another comfort, father,” said Charlotte ; 
“ that though I hope to be married, yet I never mean to 
leave you. You know that well, I have often told you so,” 
and here this grave young girl came over and kissed her 
father’s forehead. 

He smiled back at her, all the care leaving his eyes as 
he did so. Uncle Jasper had sprung impatiently to his feet. 

“ As to the lass being married,” he said, “that’s nothing; 
all women marry, or if they don’t they ought to. But what 
was that you said, John, about writing, writing in a printed 
book ? You were joking surely, man ? ” 

“ No, I was not,” answered the father. “ Go and show 
your uncle Jasper that' last article of yours, Charlotte.” 

“Oh, heaven preserve us ! no,” said uncle Jasper, back- 
ing a pace or two. “ I’m willing with all my heart to be- 
lieve it, if you swear it, but not the article. Ddn’t for heaven’s 
sake, confront me wjth the article.” 

“ There’s nothing uncommon in my writing for magazines, 
Uncle Jasper; “a great many girls do write now. I have 
three friends myself who * 

Uncle Jasper’s red face had grown positively pathetic in 
its agitation. “ What a place England must have become ! ” 
he interrupted with a groan. “ Well, lass, I’ll believe you, 
but I have one request’ to make. Tell me what you like 
about your wedding ; go into all the raptures you care for 
over your wedding dress, and even over the lucky individual 
for whom you will wear it ; tell me tw r enty times a day that 
he’s perfection, that you and you alone have found the eighth 
wonder of the world, but for the love of heaven leave out 
about the books ! The other will be hard to bear, but. I’ll 
endeavor to swallow it — but the books, oh ! heaven preserve 
us — leave out about the printed books. Don’t mention the 
unlucky magazines for which you write. Don’t breathe to 
me the thoughts with which you fill them. Oh, if there’s 
an awful creature under the sun ; tis a blue-stocking, and to 
think I should have come back from England to find such a 
horror- in the person of my own niece ! ” 


8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


CHAPTER II. 

THE POOR CHARLOTTE. 

While this light and playful scene was being enacted in 
a wealthy house in Prince’s Gate, and Charlotte Harman 
and her father laughed merrily over the Australian uncle’s 
horror of authors and their works, another Charlotte was go- 
ing through a very different part, in a different place in the 
great world’s centre. 

There could scarcely be a greater contrast than between 
the small and very shabby house in Kentish Town and the 
luxurious mansion in Kensington. The parlor of this house, 
for the drawing-rooms were let to lodgers, was occupied by 
one woman. She sat by a little shabbily covered table, writ- 
ing. The whole appearance of the room was shabby : the 
furniture, the carpet, the dingy window panes, the tiny pre- ' 
tence of a fire in the grate. It was not exactly a dirty room, 
but it lacked all brightness and freshness. The chimney did 
not draw well, and now and then a great gust of smoke would 
come down, causing the busy writer to start and rub her 
smarting eyes. She was a young woman, &s young as Char- 
lotte Harman, with a slight figure and very pale face. There 
were possibilities of beauty in the face. But the possibilities 
had come to nothing ; the features were too pinched, too un- 
derfed, the eyes, in themselves dark and heavily fringed, too 
often dimmed by tears. It was a very cold day, and sleet 
was beginning to fall, and the smoking chimney had a vin- 
dictive way of smoking more than ever, but the young wo- 
man wrote on rapidly, as though for bare life. Each page 
as she finished it, was flung on one side ; some few fell on 
the floor, but she did not stop even to pick them up. 

The short winter daylight had quite faded, and she had stood 
up to light the gas, when the room door was pushed slightly 
ajar, and one of those little maids- of-all-work, so commonly 
seen in London, put in her untidy head. 

“ Ef you please, ’em, Harold’s been and hurt Daisy, and 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


0 

they is quarrelling h’ever so, and I think as baby’s" a deal 
worse, ’em.” 

“ I will go up to them, Anne, and you may stay down 
and lay the cloth for tea — I expect your master in early to- 
night.” 

She put her writing materials hastily away, and with a 
light, quick step ran upstairs She entered a room which 
in its size and general shabbiness might better have been 
called an attic, and found herself in the presence of three 
small children. The two elder ran to meet her with out- 
stretched arms and glad cries. The baby sat up in his cot 
and gazed hard at his mother with flushed cheeks and 
round eyes. 

She took the baby in her arms and sat down in a low 
rocking-chair close to the fire. Harold and Daisy went on 
their little knees in front of her. Now that mother had 
come their quarrel was quite over, and the poor baby ceased 
to fret. 

Seated thus, with her little children about her there was 
no doubt at all that Charlotte Home had a pleasant face ; 
the care vanished" from her eyes as she looked into the in- 
nocent eyes of her babies, and as she nursed the "seven- 
months-old infant she began crooning a sweet old song in a 
true, delicious voice, to which the other two listened with 
delight : — 

“ In the days when we went gipsying, 

A long time ago.” 

“ What’s gipsying, mother ? ” asked Harold, aged six. 

“ Something like picnicking, darling. People who live 
in the country, or who are rich,” — here Mrs. Home sighed — 
“ often, in the bright summer weather, take their dinner or 
their tea, and they go out into the woods or the green fields 
and eat there. I have been to gypsy teas ; they are great 
fun. ‘ We lit a fire and boiled the kettle over it, and made 
the tea ; it was just the same tea as we had at home, but 
somehow it tasted much better out-of-doors.” 

“ Was that some time ago, mother ? ” asked little Daisy. 

*• It would seem a long, long time to you, darling ; but it 
was not so many years ago.” 

“ Mother,” asked Harold, “ why aren’t we rich, or why 
don’t we live in the country ? ” 

A dark cloud, caused by some deeper emotion than the 
mere fact of being poor, passed over the mother’s face. 


ro HOW IT ALL CAMS ROUND. 

“ We cannot live ii / the country,” she said, “ because 
your father has a curacy in this part of London. Your fa- 
ther is a brave man, and he must not desert his post.” 

“ Then why arn’t we rich ? ” persisted the boy. 

“ Because — because — I cannot answer you that, Harold ; 
and now I-must run downstairs again. Father is coming in 
earlier than usual to-night, and you and Daisy may come 
down for a little bit after tea — that is, if you promise to be 
very good children now, and not to quarrel. See, baby has 
dropped asleep ; who will sit by him and keep him from 
waking until Anne comes back ? ” 

“ I, mother,” said Harold, and, “ I, mother,” said Daisy. 

“ That is best,” said the gentle-voiced mother ; “ you 
both shall keep him very quiet and safe ; Harold shall sit 
on this side of his little cot and Daisy at the other.” 

Both children placed themselves, mute as mice, by the 
baby’s side, with the proud look of being trusted on their 
little faces. The mother kissed them and flew downstairs. 
There was no time for quiet or leisurely movement in that 
little house; in the dingy parlor, the gas had now been 
lighted, and the fire burned better and brighter, and Anne, 

. with most praisworthy efforts, was endeavoring to make some 
toast, which, alas ! she only succeeded in burning. Mrs. 
Home took the toasting-fork out of her hands. 

“ There, Anne, that will do nicely : I will finish^ the 
toast. Now please run away, and take Miss Mitchell’s din- 
ner up to her ; she is to have a little pie to-night and some 
baked potatoes ; they are all waittng, and hot in the oven, 
and then please go back to the children.” 

Anne, a really good-tempered little maid-of-all-work, van- 
ished, and Mrs. Home made some fresh toast, which she set, 
brown, hot, and crisp, in the china toast-rack. She then 
boiled a new-laid egg, and had hardly finished these final 
preparations before the rattle of the latch-key was heard in 
the hall-door, and her husband came in. He was a ..tall 
man, with a face so colorless' that hers looked almost rosy 
by contrast; his voice, however, had a certain ring about it, 
which betokened that most rare and happy gift to its posses- 
sor, a brave and courageous heart. The way in which he 
now said, “Ah, Lottie ! ” and stooped down and kissed her, 
had a good sound, and the wife’s eyes sparkled as she sat 
down by the tea-tray. 

“ Must you go out again to-night, Angus ? ” she said, 
presently. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


II 


“ Yes, my dear. Poor Mrs. Swift is really dying at last. 
I promised to look in on her again.” 

“Ah, poor soul! has it really come? And what will 
those four children do ? ” 

“ We must get them into an Orphanage ; Petterick has 
interest. I shall speak to him. Lottie ? ” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ Beat up that fresh egg I saw you putting into the cup- 
board when I came in ; beat it up, and add a little milk and 
a teaspoonful of brandy. I want to take it round with me 
to little Alice, That child has never left her mother’s side 
for two whole days and nights, and I believe has scarcely 
tasted a morsel ; I fear she will sink when all is over.” 

Lottie rose at once and prepared the mixture, placing it, 
when ready, in a little basket, which her husband seldom 
went out without ; but as she put it in his haqd she could not 
refrain from saying — 

“ I was keeping that egg for your breakfast, Angus ; I 
do grudge it a little bit.” 

“ And to eat it when little Alice wanted it so sorely 
would choke me, wife,” replied the husband ; and then but- 
toning his thin overcoat tightly about him, he went out into 
the night. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE STORY. 

The children were at last in bed, the drawing-room lodger 
had finished her dinner, the welcome time of lull in the day’s 
occupations had come, and Mrs. Home sat by the dining- 
room fire. A large basket, filled with little garments ready 
for mending, lay on the floor at her feet, and her working 
materials were close by ; but, for a wonder, the busy fingers 
were idle. In vain Daisy’s frock pleaded for that great rent 
made yesterday, and Harold’s socks showed themselves most 
disreputably out at heels. Charlotte Home neither put on 
her thimble nor threaded her needle ; she sat gazing into the 
fire, lost in reverie. It was not a very happy or peaceful 
reverie, to judge from the many changes on her expressive 


12 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


face. The words, “ Shall I, or shall I not ? ” came often to 
her lips. . Many things seemed to tear her judgment in di- 
vers ways ; most of all the look in her little son’s eyes when 
he asked that eager, impatient question, “ mother, why aren’t 
we rich ? ” but other and older voices than little Harold’s 
said to her, and they spoke pleadingly enough, “ Leave this 
thing alone ; God knows what is best for you. As you have 
gone on all these years, so continue, not troubling about 
what you cannot understand, but trusting to him.” 

“ I cannot ; I am so tired sometimes,” sighed the poor 
young wife. 

She was still undetermined when her husband returned. 
There was a great contrast in their faces — a greater almost 
in their voices, in the tone of her dispirited, “ Well, Angus,” 
and his almost triumphant answer, — 

“ Well, Lottie, that hard fight has ended bravely. Thank 
God!” 

“ Ah ! then the poor soul has gone,” said the wife, mov- 
ing her husband’s chair into the warmest corner. 

“ She has truly gone ; I saw her breathe her last. But 
there is no need to apply the word ‘ poor ’ to her ; she has 
done with all that. You know what a weakly, troubled 
creature she always was, how temptation and doubt seemed 
to wrap her round like a mist, and prevent her seeing any of 
the shining of the blue sky. Well, it all passed away at the 
last, and there was nothing but a steadfast looking into the 
very face of her Lord. He came for her, "and she just 
stretched out her arms and went to Him. Thank God- for 
being privileged to witness such a death ; it makes life far 
more easy.” 

A little weariness had crept perceptibly into the brave 
voice of the minister as he said these last words. His wife 
laid her hand sympathizingly on his. They, sat silent for a 
few moments, then he spoke on a different subject, — 

“ How is baby to-night, Lottie ? ” 

“ Better, I think ; his tooth is through at last. He will 
have rest now for a bit, poor little darling.” 

“ We must be careful to keep him from catching another 
cold. And how is Anne getting on ? ” 

“ As well as we can expect from such an ignorant little 
mite. And oh ! Angiis, the nursery is such a cold, draughty 
room, and I do — I do wish we were rich.” 

The last words were tumbled out with a great irrepres- 
sible lSurst of tears. 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*3 


“Why, my Lottie, what has come to you ? ” said her hus- 
band, touched and alarmed by this rare show of feeling 
“What is it, dear ? You wish we were rich, so do not i ; I 
am quite content. I go among so very much poorer people 
than myself, Lottie, that it always seems to me I have far 
more than my fair share of life’s good things ; but, at any 
rate my Lottie, crying won’t make us rich, so don’t waste 
your strength over it/’ 

“ I can’t help it sometimes, Angus ; it goes to my heart to 
see you shivering in such a great-coat as you have just taken 
off, and then I know you want better food, and wine ; you 
are so tired this moment you can scarcely speak. What a 
lot of good some port wine would do you ! ” 

“ And what a lot of good, wishing for it will do me ! Come 
Lottie, be sensible ; we must not begin to repine for whaf we 
have not got, and cannot get. tet us think of our mercies.” 

“You make me ashamed of myself, Angus. But these 
thoughts don’t come to me for nothing ; the fact is — yes, I 
will tell you at last, I have long been making up my mind. 
The truth is, Angus, I can’t look at the children — I can’t 
look at you and see you all suffering, and hold my peace any 
longer. We are poor, very — very — dreadfully poor, but we 
ought to be rich.” 

“ Lottie ! ” • 

Such a speech, so uttered, would have called for reproof 
from Angus Home, had it passed the lips of another. But 
he knew the woman he had married too well not to believe 
there was reason in her words. 

“ I am sorry you have kept a secret from me,” he said. 
“ What is this mystery, Lottie ? ” 

“ It was my mother, Angus. She begged of me to keep 
it to myself, and she only told me when she was dying. But 
may I just tell you all from the very beginning ? ” • 

“ Yes, dear. If it is a romance, it will just soothe me, for 
though I am, I own, tired, I could not sleep for a long time 
to come.” 

“ First, Angus, I must confess to a little bit of deceit I 
practised. on you.” 

“ Ah, Lottie ! ” said her hushand playfully, “ no wonder 
you cried, with such a heavy burden on your soul ; but con- 
fess your sins, wife.” 

“ You know how it has always fretted me, our being 
poor,” said Charlotte. “Your income is only just sufficient 
to put bread into our mouths, and, indeed, we sometimes want 


14 


ROW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


even that. I have often lain awake at night wondering how 
I could make a little money, and this winter, when it set in 
so very severe, set my thoughts harder to work on this great 
problem than ever. The children did want so much, Angus 
— new boots, and little warm dresses — and so— and so — one 
day about a month ago, Mrs. Lisle, who reads and writes so. 
•much, called, and I was very low, and she was kind and sym- 
pathizing ; somehow, at last out it all came, I did so wish to 
earn money. She asked me if I could write a good clear 
hand, a hand easily read. I showed her what I could do, 
and she was good enough to call it excellent. She said no 
more then, but the next day she came early. She brought 
me a MS. written by a friend of hers ; very illegible it was. 
She would not tell me the n^ine of her fiiend, but she said 
she was a lady very desirous of seeing herself in print. If I 
would copy this illegible writing in my own good clear hand, the 
lady would give me five pounds. I thought of the children’s 
boots and their winter dresses, and I toiled over it. I con- 
fess now that it was weary work, and tired me more than I 
cared to own. I finished it to-day ; this evening, just before 
you came home, that task was done ; but this morning I did 
something else. You know Miss Mitchell is always kind 
enough to let me see the Times. This morning Anne 
brought it down as usual, and, as I ran my eyes over it I was 
struck by an advertisement, ‘ A young lady living at Kensing- 
ton wished for the services of an amanuensis, for so many 
hours daily.. Remuneration good.’ I could not help it, An- 
gus, my heart seemed to leap into my mouth. Then and 
there I put on my bonnet, and with a specimen of my hand- 
writing in my pocket, went off to answer the advertisement in 
person. The house was in Prince’s Gate, Kensington : the 
name of the young lady who had advertised for my services 
was Harman.” 

“ Harman ! how strange, wife ! yoiyr own name before you 
married.” 

“ Yes, dear ; but such a different person from me, so rich, 
while I am so poor ; so very, very beautiful, and graceful, and 
gracious : she may have been a year or so younger than I, 
she was not much. She had a thoughtful face, a noble face. 
I could have drawn tears from her eyes had I described the 
little children, but I did not. It was delightful to look upon 
her calm. Not for worlds would I disturb it ; and, Angus, 

I found out another thing — her name was not only Harman, 
but Charlotte Harman.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. \ 15 

There was no doubt at all that the other Charlotte was 
excited now, the color had come into her cheeks, her eyes 
sparkled. Her husband watched her with undisguised sur- 
prise. 

“ I made a good thing of it Angus,” she continued. “ I 
am to go to Prince’s Gate every morning, I am to be there at 
ten, and give my services till one o’clock. I am then to have 
lunch with the young lady, and for all this, and the enjoy- 
ment of a good dinner into the bargain, I am to receive thirty 
shillings a week. Does not it sound too good to be true ? ” 

“ And that is how we are to be rich, Lottie. Well, go on 
and prosper. I know what an active little woman you are 
and how impossible it is for you to let the grass grow under 
your feet. I do not object to your trying this thing, if it is 
not too much for your strength, and if you can safely leave the 
children.” 

“ I have thought of the children, Angus ; this is so much 
for their real interest, that it would be a pity to throw it 
away. But, as you say, they must not be neglected. I shall 
ask that little Alice Martin to come in to look after them un- 
til I am back every day ; she will be glad to earn half-a-crown 
a week.” 

“ As much in proportion, as your thirty shillings is to you 
— eh, Lottie ? See how rich we are in reality.” 

Mrs. Home sighed, and the bright look left her face, 
her husband perceived the change. 

“ That is not all you have got to tell me,” he said. 

“ No, it is only leading up to what I want to tell you. It 
is what has set me thinking s'o hard all day that I can keep it 
to myself no longer. Angus, , prepare for a surprise ; that 
beautiful young lady, who bears the same name I bore before 
I was married — is — is— she is my near relation.” 

“Your near relation, Charlotte ? But I never knew you 
had any near relations.” 

“ No, dear, I never told you ; my mother thought it best 
that you should not know. She only spoke to me of them 
when she was dying. She was sorry afterwards that she had 
even done that ; she begged of me, unless great necessity 
arose, not to say anything to you. It is only because it 
seems to me the necessity has really come that I speak of 
what gave my mother such pain to mention.” 

“ Yes, dear, you have wealthy relations. I don't know 
that it matters very greatly. But go on.” 

“ There is more than that, Angus, but I will try to tell 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 


16 

you all. You know how poor I was when you found me, and 
gave me your love and yourself.” 

“ We were both poor, Lottie ; so much so that we thought 
two hundred a ^year, which was what we had to begin house- 
keeping on, quite riches.” 

“ Yes, Augus ; well, I had been poor all my life, I could 
never do what rich girls did, I was so accustomed to wear- 
ing shabby dresses, and eating plain food, and doing without 
the amusements which seem to come naturally into the lives 
of most young girls, that I had ceased to miss them. I was 
sent to a rather good school, and had lessons in music and 
painting, and I sometimes wondered how my mother had 
money even to give me these. Then I met you, and we were 
married. It was just after our little Harold was born that 
my mother died,” 

“Yes, you went down into Hertfordshire ; you were away 
for six weeks.” 

“ I took Harold with me ; mother was so proud of him. 
Whenever she had an easy moment, she used to like to have 
him placed on her knee. She told me then that she had a 
little son older than I, who died, and that our Harold re- 
minded her of him. One night, I remember so well, I was 
sitting up with her. She had been going through great pain, 
but towards the morning she was easier. She was more in- 
clined, however, to talk than to sleep. She began again speak- 
ing about the likeness between our Harold and my little 
brother who died. 

“ ‘ I shall give you little Edgar’s christening robe for 
Harold,’ she said. ‘ I never could bear to part with it before 
but I don’t mind his having it. Open my wardrobe, Char- 
lotte, and you will find it folded away in a blue paper, in the 
small wooden box.’ ^ 

“ I did so, and took out a costly thing, yellow, it is true, 
with age, but half covered with most valuable lace. 

“ ‘Why, mother,’ I exclaimed, ‘ how did you ever get such 
a valuable dress as this ? Why, this lace would be cheap at 
a guinea a yard ! ’ 

“ ‘ It cost a great deal more than that,’ replied mother, 
stoking down the soft lace and muslin with her thin fingers ; 
‘but we were rich then, Lottie.’ 

“ ‘ Rich ! ” I said, ‘ rich ! I never, never thought that you 
and I had anything to say to money, mother.’ 

“ ‘ You don’t remember your father, child?” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


n 

“ ‘ No, mother,’ I said ; ‘ how could I ? I was only two 
years old when he died.’ 

“ Mother was silent after that, and I think she went into 
a doze, but my curiosity and wonder were excited, and I could 
not help seeking to know more. 

“ ‘ I never knew that we were rich,’ I said again the next 
day. ‘ Why did you never tell me before ? The next best 
thing to enjoying riches would be to he^r about them/ 

“ ‘ I did not want to make you discontented, Lottie. I 
thought what you had never known or thought of you would 
never miss. I feared, my de^r, to make you discontented.’ 

“ ‘ But I have thought of money,’ I owned, ‘ I have thought 
of it lately a great deal. When I look at Angus I long to 
get him every luxury, and I want my little Harold to grow 
up surrounded by those things which held to develop a fine 
and refined character. 

“‘But they don’t, Lottie; they don’t indeed,’ answered 
my dear dying mother. ‘ Riches bring a snare — they debase 
the character, they don’t ennoble it.’ 

“ ‘ Mother,’ I said, ‘ I see plainly that you are well 
acquainted with this subject. You will tell me, mother, 
what you know ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied my mother ; ‘ it won’t do you the least 
good ; but as I have said so much to you I may as well tell 
the rest.’ 

“ Then, Augijs, my mother told me the following story ; 
it is not very long. 

“ She was an orphan and a governess when my father 
found her and married her — she was my father’s second 
wife. She was much younger than he — he had grown-up 
j sons — two grown-up sons at the time of his marriage ; and 
they were very deeply offended at his thinking of a second 
marriage. So indignant were they that my father and they 
i came to quite an open quarrel, and mother said that during 
! the five years that my father lived she never saw either of 
her stepsons until just at the close. She was very happy as 
i my father’s wife ; he loved her dearly, anc^ as he had plenty 
j of money she wanted for nothing. My father was an old 
t man, as I have said, ^ and he was tired of fuss, and also of 
! much society ; so though they were so rich mother lived 
rather a lonely life — in a large and beautiful place in 
Hertfordshire. She said the place was called the Hermitage, 
and was one of the largest and best in the neighborhood. 
At last my father fell ill, very ill, and the doctors said he 


i8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


must die. Then for the first time there came hastening 
back to the Hermitage the two elder sons — their names were 
John and Jasper — the eldest John, my mother said, was 
very handsome, and very kind and courteous to her. He 
was a married man, and he told mother that he had a little 
daughter much about my age, who was also called Charlotte . 
My father and his two sons seemed quite reconciled in these 
last days, and they spent most of their time with him. On 
the evening, however, before he died, he had mother and me 
with him alone. I sat on the bed, a little baby child of two, 
and my father held mother’s hand. He told mother how much 
he loved her, and he spoke a very little about money 
matters. 

“‘John will make it all right for you, Daisy,’ he said. 
‘John knows all about my wishes with regard to you and 
little Charlotte. I should like this little Charlotte and his to 
be friends ; they are both called after my own mother, the 
best woman I ever met. You will bring up little Charlotte 
with every comfort and refinement, dear wife.’ 

“The next day my father died, and John and Jasper 
went to London. They did not even wait for the funeral, 
though Jasper came back for it. John, he told mother, was 
kept by the sudden dangerous illness of his wife. Jasper 
said that John felt our father’s death most dreadfully. 
Mother had liked John, who was always very civil to her, 
but she could not bear Jasper : she said he seemed a 
cleverer man than his brother, but she never could get over 
a feeling of distrust towards him. The will was never read 
to my mother, but Jasper came back again from London to 
tell her of its contents, and then judge of her surprise — her 
name was not even mentioned, neither her name nor mine. 
She had been married without settlements, and every farthing 
of all my father’s great wealth was left to his two sons, John 
and Jasper. Jasper expressed great surprise; he even 
said it was a monstrously unfair thing of his father to do, 
and that certainly he and his brother would try to rectify it 
in a measure. He then went back to London, and mother 
was left alone in the great empty house. She said she felt 
quite stunned, and was just then in such grief for my father 
that she scarcely heeded the fact that shS was left penniless. 
Two days afterwards a lawyer from London came down to 
see her. He came with a message from her two stepsons. 
They were much concerned for her, and they were willing to 
help her. They would allow her, between them, as long as 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND.. 


*9 


she lived the interest on three thousand pounds — on one 
condition. The condition was this : she was never to claim 
the very least relationship with them ; she was to bring up 
her daughter as' a stranger to them. They had never ap- 
proved of their father’s marrying her ; they would allow her 
the money on condition that all connection between them 
completely dropped. The day it was renewed by either 
mother or daughter, on that day >the interest on the three 
thousand pounds would cease to be paid. My mother was 
too young, too completely inexperienced, and too bowed 
down with grief, to make the least objection. Only one faint 
protest did she make. ‘ My husband said,’ she faltered, 
‘ on the very last day of his life, he said that he wished my little 
Charlotte and that other Charlotte in London to be friends.’ 
But the lawyer only shook his head. On this point his clients 
were firm. ‘ All communication between the families must 
cease.’ 

“ That is the story, Augus,” continued Charlotte Home, 
suddenly changing her voice, and allowing her eyes, which 
had been lowered during her brief recital, to rise to h£r 
husband’s face. “ My dear mother died a day or two after- 
wards. She died regretting having to own even what she did, 
and begging me not to think unkindly of my father, and 
4 not to unsettle your mind by telling you what could do no 
good whatever. 

u ‘ I do not think unkindly of my father, mother,’ I an- 
swered, ‘ and I will not trouble my husband’s mind, at least, 
not yet, never, perhaps, unless fitting opportunity arises. 
But I know what I think, mother — what, indeed, I know. 
That was not my father’s real will ; my brothers John and 
Jasper have cheated you. Of this I am very sure.’ 

“ Mother, though she was so weak and dying, got quite a 
color into her cheeks/ when I said this. ‘No, no,’ she said, 
‘ don’t harbor such a thought in your heart — my darling, my 
darling. Indeed it is utterly impossible. It was a real, 
real will. I heard it read, and your brothers, they were 
gentlemen. Don’t let so base a thought of them dwell 
in your heart. It is, I know it is, impossible.’ 

“ I said no more to trouble my dear mother, and shortly 
afterwards she died. That is six years ago.” 


ao 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


CHAPTER 'iV. 

TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT. 

After the story was finished the husband and wife sat 
for a long time side by side, in absolute silence. Both pairs 
of eyes were fixed on the glowing embers in the fire ; the 
wife’s reflected back both the lights and the shadows ; they 
were troubled eyes, troubled with possible joy, troubled also 
with the dark feelings of anger. The husband’s, on the 
contrary, were calm and steady. No strong hope was visit- 
ing them, but despair, even disquietude, seemed miles away. 
Presently the wife’s small nervous fingers were stretched out 
to meet her husband’s, his closed over them, he turned his 
head, met her anxious face, smiled and spoke. 

“ So it seems on the cards that you might have been rich, 
Lottie. Well, it was unjust of your father not to have made 
some provision for your mother and you, but — but — he has 
long been dead, the whole thing is over. Let it pass.” 

“ Augus ! do you know what I should like ? ” asked his 
wife. 

“ No. What?” 

“ I should like to meet those two men, John and Jasper 
Harman, face to face, and ask them without the least pre- 
amble or preparation, what they have done with my father’s 
real will ? ” 

“ Dear Lottie, you must get this strange idea out of your 
head. It is not right of you to harbor such thoughts of any 
men.” 

“ I should like to look so hard at them,” continued 
Charlotte, scarcely heeding her husband’s words. “ I know 
their eyes would flinch, they would' be startled, they would 
betray themselves. Angus, I can’t help it, the conviction 
that is over me is too strong to be silenced. For years, ever 
since my mother told me that story, I have felt that we have 
been wronged, nay, robbed of our own. But when I entered 
that house to-day and found myself face with my half-brother’s 
daughter, when I found myself in the house that I had been 
forbidden to enter, I felt— I knew, that a great wrong had 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


21 


been committed. My father ! Why should I think ill of my 
father, Angus ? Is it likely that he would have made no 
provision for my mother whom he loved, or for me ? Is it 
likely that he would have left everything he possessed to the 
two sons with whom he had so bitterly quarrelled, that for 
years they had not even met ? Is it likely ? Augus, you are a 
just man, and you will T5wn to the truth. Is it likely, that 
with his almost dying breath, he should have assured my 
mother that all was settled that she could bring me up well, 
in comfort and luxury, that Charlotte Harman and I should 
be friends ? No, Angus ! I believe my father ; he was a 
good and just man always ; and, even if he was not, dying 
men dofi’t tell lies.” 

“ I grant that it seems unlikely, Lottie ; but then, on the 
other hand, what do you accuse these men of ? Why, of no 
less a crime than forging a will, of suppressing the real will, 
and bringing forward one of their own manufacture. Why, 
my dear wife, such an act of villany would be not only 
difficult, but, I should say, impossible.” 

“ I don’t know how it was done, Augus, but something 
was done, of that I am sure, and what that thing was I shall' 
live, please God, to find out.” 

“ Then you — you, a clergyman’s wife — the wife of a man 
who lives to proclaim peace on earth, good-will to men, you 
go into your brother’s house as a spy ! ” 

Mrs. Home colored. Her husband had risen from his 
chair. 

“ You shall not do that,” he said ; “ I am your husband, 
and I forbid it. You can only go to the Harmans, if they are 
indeed the near relations you believe them to be, on one con- 
dition.” 

“ And that ? ” said Charlotte. 

“ That you see not only Mr. Harman’s daughter, but Mr. 

Harman himself ; that you tell him exactly who you are 

If, after hearing your story, he allows you to work for his 
daughter, you can do so without again alluding to the rela- 
tionship. If they wish it dropped, drop it, Lottie ; work for 
them as you would for any other strangers, doing your best 
work bravely and well. But begin openly. Above all things 
thinking no evil in your heart of them.’” 

“ Then I cannot go on these conditions, Angus, for I can- 
not feel charity in my heart towards Mr. Harman. It seemed 
such a good thing this morning. But I must give it up.” 

“ And something else will come in it’s place, never fear ; 


2 2 HO W IT all CAME ROUND . 

but I did not know until to-night that my Lottie so pined for 
riches.” 

“ Angus, I do — I do — I want Harold to go to a good 
school, Daisy to be educated, little Angus to get what is 
necessary for his health, and above all, you, my dearest, my 
dearest, to have a warm overcoat, and port wine : the over- 
coat when you are cold, the port wine when you are tired.. 
Think of having these luxuries, not only for yourself, but toj 
give away to your poor, Angus, and I am sure we ought to, 
have them.” 

“ Ah, Lottie ! you are a witch, you try to tempt me, and 
all these things sound very pleasant. But don’t dream of 
what we haven’t, let us live for the many, many things we 
have.” 


CHAPTER V. 


LOVE IN A DIAMOND 


The next day Angus Home went out early as usual, about 
his many parish duties ; this was it was true, neither a feast 
nor a fast day, nor had he to attend a morning service, but 
he had long ago constituted himself chief visitor among the 
sick and poorest of his flock, and such work occupied him from 
morning to night. Perhajas in a nature naturally inclined to 
asceticism, this daily mingling with the very poor and the 
very suffering, had helped to keep down all ambitions for 
earthly good things, whether those good things came in the 
guise of riches or honors ; but though unambitious and very 
humble, never pushing himself forward, doing always the 
work that men who considered themselves more fastidious 
would shun, never allowing his voice to be heard where he 
believed wiser men than he might speak, Mr. Home was 
neither morbid nor unhappy ; one of his greatest character- 
istics was an utter absence of all self-consciousness. 

The fact was, the man, though he had a wife whom he 
loved, and children very dear to him, had grown accustomed 
to hold life lightly ; to him life was in very truth a pilgrim- 
age, a school, a morning which should usher in the great day 
of the future. His mental and spiritual eyes were fixed expec- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


23 

tantly and longingly on that day ; and in connection with it, 
it would be wrong to say that he was without ambition, for 
he had a very earnest and' burning desire, not only for rank 
but for kingship by and by : he wanted to be crowied with 
the crown of righteousness. 

Angus Home knew well that to wear that crown in all its 
lustre in' the future, it must begin to fit his head down here ; 
and he also knew that those who put on such crowns on 
earth, find them, as their great and blessed Master did before 
them, made of thorns, 

It is no wonder then that the man with so simple a faith, 
so Christ-like a. spirit, should not be greatly concerned by 
his wife’s story of the night before. He did not absolutely 
forget it, for he pondered over it as he wended his way to the 
attic where the orphan Swifts lived. He felt sorry for Lottie 
as he thought of it, and he hoped she would soon cease to 
have such uncharitable ideas of her half-brothers ; he himself 
could not even entertain the notion that any fraud had been 
committed ; he felt rather shocked that his Lottie should dwell 
on so base a thing. 

There is no doubt that this saint-like man could be a tiny 
bit provoking ; and so his wife felt when he left her without 
again alluding to their last night’s talk. After all it is wives 
and mothers who feel the sharpest stings of poverty. Char- 
lotte had known what to be poor meant all her life, as a 
child, as a young girl, as a wife, as a mother, but she had 
been brave enough about it, indifferent enough to it, until 
the children came ; but from the day her mother’s story was 
told her, and she knew how close the wings of earthly com- 
fort had swept her by, discontent came into her heart. Dis- 
content came in and grew with the birth of each fresh little 
one. She might have made her children so comfortable, she 
could do so little with them ; they were pretty children too. 
It went to her heart to see their beauty disfigured in ugly 
clothes ; she used to look the other way with a great jealous 
pang, when she saw children not nearly so beautiful as hers, 
yet looked at and admired because of their bright fresh 
colors and dainty little surroundings. But poverty brought 
worse stings than these. The small house in Kentish Town 
was hot and stifling in the' months of July and August; the 
children' grew pale and pined for the fresh country air which 
could not be given to them ; Lottie herself grew weak and 
languid, and her husband’s pale face seemed to grow more 
etherial day by day. At all such times as these did Charlotte 


24 BO W IT ALL CAME RO UNJf. 

Home’s mind and thoughts refer back to her mother’s story, 
and again and again the idea returned that a great great wrong- 
had been done. 

In the winter when this story opens, poverty came very 
close to the little household. They were, it is true, quite out 
of debt, but they were only so because the food was kept so 
scanty, the fires so low, dress so very insufficient to keep at 
a distance the winter’s bitter cold ; they were only out of 
debt because the mother slaved from morning to night, and 
the father ate less and less, having, it is to be feared, less 
and less appetite to eat. 

Then the wife and mother grew desperate, money must be 
brought in — how could it be done ? The doctor called and 
said that-baby Angus would die if he had not more milk — he 
must have what is called in London baby-milk, and plenty of 
it. Such milk in Kentish Town meant money. Lottie re- 
solved that baby Angus should not die. In answering an 
advertisement which she hoped would give her employment, 
she accidentally found herself in her own half-brother’s house. 
There was the wealth which had belonged to her father ; 
there were the riches to which she was surely born. How 
delicious were those soft carpets ; how nice those cushioned 
seats ; how pleasant those glowing fires ; what an air of re- 
finement breathed over everything ; how grand it was to be 
served by those noiseless and well-trained servants ; how 
great a thing was wealth, after all ! 

She thought all this before she saw Charlotte Harman. 
Then the gracious face, the noble bearing, the kindly 
and sweet manner of this girl of her own age, this girl who 
might have been her dearest friend, who was so nearly re- 
lated to her, filled her with sudden bitterness ; she believed 
herself immeasurably inferior to Miss Harman, and yet she 
knew that she might have been such another. She left the 
house with a mingled feeling of relief and bitterness. She 
was earning present money. What might she not discover 
to benefit her husband and children by and by ? 

In the evening, unable to keep her thoughts to herself, 
she told them and her story for the first time to her husband. 
Instantly he tore the veil from her eyes. Was she, his 
wife, to go to her own brother’s house as a spy ? No ! a 
thousand times no ! No wealth, however needed, would be 
worth purchasing at such a price. If Charlotte could not 
banish from her mind these unworthy thoughts, she must 
give up so excellent a means of earning money. 


25 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

Poor Charlotte ! The thoughts her husband considered, 
so mean, so untrue, so unworthy, had become by this time 
part of her very being. Oh ! must the children surfer 
because unrighteous men enjoyed what was rightfully 
theirs ? 

For the first time, the very first time in all her life, she 
felt discontented with her Angus. If only he were a little 
more everyday, a little more practical ; if only he would go 
to the bottom of this mystery, and set her mind at rest ! 

She went about her morning duties in a state of mental 
friction and aggravation, and, as often happens, on this very 
morning when she seemed least able to bear it, cam£ the pro- 
verbial last straw. Anne, the little maid, put in her head at 
the parlor door. 

“ Ef you please, ’em, is Harold to wear ’em shoes again ? 
There’s holes through and through of ’em, and it’s most 
desp’rate sloppy out of doors this mornin’.” 

Mrs. Home took the little worn-out shoes in her hand ; 
she saw at a glance that they were quite past mending. 

“ Leave them here, Anne,” she said. “You are right, 
he cannot wear these again. I will go out at once and buy 
him another pair.” 

The small maid disappeared, and Charlotte put her hand 
into her pocket. She drew out her purse with a sinking 
heart. Was there money enough in it to buy the necessary 
food for the day’s consumption, and also to get new shoes 
for Harold ? A glance showed her but too swiftly there was 
not. She never went on credit for anything — the shoes must 
wait, and Harold remain a prisoner in the house that day. 
She went slowly up to the nursery : Daisy and baby could go 
out and Harold should come down to the parlor to he . 

But one glance at her boy’s pale face caused her heart 
to sink. He was a handsome boy — she thought him aristo- 
cratic, fit to be the son of a prince— but to-day he was deadly 
pale, with that washy look which children who pine for fresh 
air so often get. He was standing in rather a moping atti- 
tude by the tiny window ; but at sight of his mother he flew 
to her. 

“ Mother, Anne says I’m to have new shoes. Have you 
got them ? I am so glad.” 

No, she could not disappoint her boy. A sudden idea 
darted through her brain. She would ask Miss Mitchell, 
the drawing-room boarder, to lend her the three-and-sixpence 
which the little shoes would cost. It was the first time she 


26 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


had ever borrowed, and her pride rose in revolt at even nam- 
ing the paltry sum — but, for the sake of her boy’s pale face ? 

“Iam going out to buy the shoes,” she said, stooping 
down to kiss the sweet upturned brow ; and she flew down- 
stairs and tapped at the drawing-room door. 

Miss Mitchell was a lady of about fifty ; she had been 
with them now for nearly a year, and what she paid for the 
drawing-room and best bedroom behind it, quite covered the 
rent of the shabby little house. Miss Mitchell was Charlotte 
Home’s grand standby ; she was a very uninteresting person, 
neither giving nor looking for sympathy, never concerning 
herself about the family in whose house she lived. But then, 
on the other hand, she was easily pleased ; she never grum- 
bled, she paid her rent like clockwork. She now startled 
Lottie by coming instantly foward and telling her that it 
was her intention to leave after the uusal notice ; she found the 
baby’s fretful cries too troublesome, for her room was under 
the nursery ; this was one reason. Another, perhaps the 
most truthful one, was, that her favorite curate in St. Mar- 
tin’s Church over the way, had received promotion to another 
and more fashionable church, and she would like to move to 
where she could still be under his ministry. Charlotte bowed ; 
there was nothing for it but to accept the fact that her com- 
fortable lodger must go. Where could she find a second 
Miss Mitchell, and how could she possibly now ask for the 
loan of three and sixpence ? 

She left the room. Where was the money to come from 
to buy Harold’s shoes ? for that little pleading face must not 
be disappointed. This care was, for the moment, more press- 
ing than the loss of Miss Mitchell. How should she get the 
money for her boy ? She pressed her hand to her brow to 
think out this problem. As she did so, a ring she wore on 
her wedding-finger flashed ; it was her engagement ring, 
a plain gold band, only differing from the wedding-ring, which 
it now guarded, in that it possessed one small, very small 
diamond. The diamond was perhaps the smallest that could 
be purchased, but it was pure of its kind, and the tiny gem 
now flashed a loving fire into her eyes, as though it would 
-speak if it could in answer to her inquiry. Yes, if she sold 
this ring, the money would be forthcoming. It was pre- 
cious, it symbolized much to her ; she had no other to act as 
guard ; but it was not so precious as the blue eyes of her first- 
born. Her resolve was scarcely conceived before it was put 
in practie. She hastened out with the ring ; a jeweller lived 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


27 

not far away ; he gave her fifteen shillings, and Charlotte, 
feeling quite rich, bought the little shoes and hurried home. 

As she almost flew along the sloppy streets a fresh 
thought came to her. Yes ! she must certainly decline that 
very excellent situation with Miss Harman. That sorely 
wanted thirty shillings a week must be given up, there was 
no question about that. Bitter were her pangs of heart as she 
relinquished the precious money, but it would be impossible 
for her to go to her brother’s house in the only spirit in which 
her husband would allow her to go. Yes ; she must give it 
up. When the children were at last fairly started on their 
walk she would sit down and write to Miss Harman. But 
why should she write ? She stood still as the thought came 
to her to go to Miss Harmon in person ; to tell her from 
her own lips that she must not visit that house, or see her 
daily. She might or might not tell her who she really was ; 
she would leave that to circumstances ; but she would at 
least once more see her brother’s house and look into the 
eyes of her brother’s child. It would be a short, soon-lived- 
through excitement. Still she was in that mood when to sit 
still in inactivity was impossible ; the visit would lead to 
nothing, but still she would pay it ; afterwards would be time 
enough to think of finding some one to replace Miss Mitchell, 
of trying to buy again her engagement ring, of purchasing 
warm clothes for her little ones. 


CHAPTER VI 
in prince’s gate. 

Having arranged her household matters, been informed 
of another pair of boots which, could not last many days 
longer, seen to the children’s dinner, and finally started the 
little group fairly off for their walk with Anne, Charlotte 
ran upstairs, put on her neat though thin and worn black 
silk, her best jacket and bonnet and set off to Kensington 
to see Miss Harman. 

She reached the grand house in Prince’s Gate about 
twelve o’clock. The day had indeed long begun for her, 
but she reflected rather bitterly that most likely Miss Harman 


28 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


had but just concluded her breakfast. She found, however, 
that she had much wronged this energetic young lady. Break- 
fast had been over with some hours ago, and when Mrs. Home 
asked for her, the footman who answered her modest sum- 
mons said that Miss Harman was out, but had left directions 
that if a lady called she was to be asked to wait. 

Charlotte was taken up to Miss Harman’s own private sit- 
ting room, where, after stirring the fire, and furnishing her with 
that morning’s Times, the servant left her alone. 

Mrs. Home was glad of this. She drew her comfortable 
easy chair to the fire, placed her feet upon the neat brass 
rail, closed her eyes, and tried to fancy herself alone. Had 
her father lived, such comforts as these would have been 
matters of everyday occurrence to her. Common as the air 
she breathed would this grateful warmth be then to her thin 
limbs, this delicious easy chair to her aching back. Had her 
father lived, or had justice been done, in either case would 
soft ease have been her portion. 'She started from her re- 
clining position and looked round the room. A parrot swung 
lazily on his perch in one of the windows. Two canarie_s sang 
in a gilded cage in the other. How Harold and Daisy would 
love these birds ! Just over her head was a very beautifully ex- 
ecuted portrait in oils of a little child, most likely Miss Har- 
man in her infancy. Ah, yes, but baby Angus at home was 
more beautiful. A portrait of him would attract more admi- 
ration than did that of the proud daughter of all this wealth. ; 
Tears started unbidden to the poor perplexed mother’s eyes, j 
It was hard to sit quiet with this burning pain at her heart. J 
Just then the door was opened and an elderly gentleman with 
silver hair came in. He bowed, distantly to the stranger 
sitting by his hearth, took up a book he had come to seek, 
and withdrew. Mrs. Home had barely time to realize that 
this elderly man must really be the brother who had sup- : 
planted her, when a sound of feet, of voices, of pleasant 
laughter, drew near. The room door was again opened, and 
Charlotte Harman, accompanied by two gentlemen, came in. j 
The elder of the two men was short and rather stout, with 
hair that had once been red, but was now sandy, keen, deep- 
set eyes, and a shrewd, rather pleasant face. . Miss Harman 
addressed him as Uncle Jasper, and they continued firing 
gay badinage at one another ‘for a moment without perceiv- 
ing Mrs. Home’s presence, The younger man was tall and 
square-shouldered, with a rather rugged face of some power. 
He might have been about thirty. He entered the room by 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 29 

Miss Harman’s side, and stood by her now with a certain air 
of proprietorship. 

“ Ah ! Mrs Home,” said the young lady, quickly dis- 
covering her visitor and coming forward and shaking hands 
with her at once, “ I expected you. I hope you have not 
waited long, John,” turning to the young man, “ will you 
come back at four ? Mrs. Home and I have some little 
matters to talk over , and I daresay her time is precious. I 
shall be quite ready to go out with you at four. Uncle 
Jasper, my father is in the library ; will you take him this 
book from me ? ” 

Uncle Jasper, who had been peering with all his might 
out of his short-sighted eyes' at the visitor, now answered 
with a laugh, “ We are politely dismissed, eh ? Hinton,” and 
taking the arm of the younger man they left the room. 


CHAPTER VII. 

IT INTERESTS HER. 

“ And now, Mrs Home, we will have some lunch to- 
gether up here, and then afterwards we can talk and quite 
finish all our arrangements,” said the rich Charlotte,' looking 
with her frank and pleasant eyes at the poor one. She rang 
a bell as she spoke, and before Mrs Hope had time to reply, 
a tempting little meal was ordered to be served without 
delay. 

“ I have been with my publishers this morning,” said 
Miss Harman. “ They are good enough to say they believe 
my tale promises well, but they want it completed by the 
first of March, to come out with the best spring books. Don’t 
you think we may get it done ? It is the middle of January 
now.” 

“ I daresay it may be done,” answered Mrs. Home, ris- 
ing, and speaking in a tremulous voice. “ I have no doubt 
you will work hard and have it ready — but — but — I regret 
it much, I have come to-day to say I cannot take the situa- 
tion you have so kindly offered me.” 

“ But why ? ” said Miss Harman, “ why ? ” Some color 
came into her cheeks as she added, “ I don’t understand you. 


3 o HOW IT ALL CAME ROPND. 

I thought you had promised. I thought it was all arranged 
yesterday.” 

Her tone was a little haughty, but how well she used it ; 
how keenly Mrs. Home felt the loss of what she was resign- 
ing. 

“ I did promise you,” she said ; “ I feel you have a right 
to blame me. It is a considerable loss to me resigning your 
situation, but my husband has asked me to do so. I must 
obey my husband, must I not ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, of course. But why should he object. He 
is a clergyman, is he not ? Is he too proud — I would tell 
no one. All in this house should consider you simply as a 
friend. Our writing would be just a secret between you and 
me. Your husband will give in when you tell him that.” 

“ He is not in the least proud, Miss Harman — not proud 
I mean in that false way.” 

“ Then I am not giving you money enough — of course 
thirty shillings seems too little ; I will gladly raise it to two 
pounds a week, and if this book succeeds, you shall have 
more for helping me with the next.” 

Mrs. Home felt her heart beating. How much she 
needed, how keenly she longed for that easily earned money, 
“ I must not think of it,” she said, however, shaking her 
head. “ I confess I want money, but I must earn it else- 
where. I cannot come here. My husband will only 
allow me to do so on a certain condition. I cannot even tell 
you the condition — certainly I cannot fulfil it, therefore I 
cannot come.” 

“ Oh ! but that is exciting. Do tell it to me.” 

“If I did you would be the first to say I must never come 
to this house again.” 

“ I am quite sure you wrong me there. I may as well 
own that I have taken a fancy to you. I am a spoiled child, 
and I always have my own way. My present way is to have 
you here in this snug room for two or three hours daily — you 
and I working in secret over something grand. I always 
get my way so your conditions must melt into air. Now, 
what are they.” 

Dare I tell her ? ” thought Mrs. Home. Aloud she said, 
“ The conditions are these : — I must tell you a story, a story 
about myself— and— and others.” 

... “ And 1 love stories, especially when they happen in real 
life.” 

“ Miss Harman, don’t tempt me. I want to tell ypii, but 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


31 

I bad better not; yon had better. let me go away. You are 
very happy now, are you not ? ” 

“ What a strange woman you are, Mrs. Home ! Yes, I 
am happy.” 

“ You won’t like my story. It is possible you may not 
be happy after you have heard it.” 

“ That is a very unlikely possibility. How can the tale 
of an absolute stranger affect my happiness ? ” These words 
were said eagerly— a little bit defiantly. 

But Mrs. Home’s face had now become so grave, and 
there was such an eager, almost frightened look in her eyes, 
that her companion’s too changed. After all what was this 
tale ? A myth, doubtless ; but she would. hear it now. 

“ I accept the risk of my happiness l>eing imperilled,” 
she said. “ I choose to hear the tale — I am ready.” 

“ But I may not choose to tell,” said the other Char- 
lotte. 

“ I would make you. You have begun — begun in such a 
way that you ?nust finish.” 

“ Is that so ? ” replied Mrs. Home. The light was grow- 
ing more and more eager in her eyes. She said to herself, 
“ The die is cast,” There rose up before her a vision of her 
children — of her husband’s thin face. Her voice trembled. 

“ Miss Harman — I will speak — you won’t interrupt me ? ” 

“ No, but lunch is on the table. You must eat some- 
thing first.” 

“ I am afraid I cannot with that story in prospect ; to 
eat would choke me ! ” 

“ What a queer tale it must be ! ” said the other Char- 
lotte. “ Well, so be it.” She- seated herself in a chair at a 
little distance from Mrs. Home, fixed her gaze on the glow- 
ing fire, and said, “ I am ready. I wont interrupt you.” 

The poor Charlotte, too, looked at the fire. During the 
entire telling of the tale neither of these young women 
glanced at the other. 

“ It is my own story,” began Mrs. Home ; then she 
paused, and continued, “ My father died when I was two 
years old. During my father’s lifetime I, who am now so poor, 
had all the comforts that you must have had, Miss Harman, 
in your childhood. He died, leaving my mother, who was 
both young and pretty, nothing. She was his second wife, 
for five years she had enjoyed all that his wealth could pur- 
chase for her. He died, leaving her absolutely penniless, 
my mother was, as I have said, a second wife. My father 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


3 2 

had two grown-up sons. These sons had quarrelled with him 
at the time of his marrying my young mother ; they came to 
see him and were reconciled on. his deathbed. He left to 
these sons every penny of his great wealth. The sons ex- 
pressed surprise when the will was read. They even blamed 
my father for so completely forgetting his wife and youngest 
child. They offered to make some attonement for him. 
During my mother’s lifetime they settled on her three thou- 
sand pounds ; I mean the interest, at five per cent., on that 
sum. It was to return to them at her death, it was not to 
descend to me, and my mother must only enjoy it bn one 
condition. The condition was, that all communication must 
cease between my father’s family and hers. On the day she 
renewed it the money would cease to be paid. My mother < 
was young, a widow, and alone ; she accepted the condi- 
tions, and the money was faithfully paid to her until the 
day of her death. I was too young to remember my father, 
and I only heard this story about him on my mother’s death- 
bed ; then for the first time I learned that we might have 
been rich, that we were in a measure meant to enjoy the 
good things which money can buy. My mother had educated 
me well, and you may be quite sure that with an income of 
one hundred and fifty pounds a year this could only be done 
by practising the strictest economy. I was accustomed to 
doing without the pretty dresses and nice things which came 
as natural to other girls as the air they breathed. In my 
girlhood, I did not miss these things ; but at the time of my 
mother’s death, at the time the story first reached my ears, I 
was married, and my eldest child was born. A poor man 
had made me, a poor girl his wife, and, Miss Harman, let 
me tell you, that wives and mothers do long for money. The 
longing with them is scarcely selfish, it. is for the beings 
dearer than themselves. There is a pain beyond words in 
denying your little child what you khow is for that child’s 
good, but yet which you cannot give because of your eiqpty 
purse ; there is a pain in seeing your husband shivering in 
too thin a coat on bitter winter nights. You know nothing of 
such things — may you never know them ; but they have gone 
quite through my heart, quite, quite through it. Well, that 
is my story ; not much, you will say, after all. I might have 
been rich, I am poor, that is my story.” 

“ It interests me,” said Miss Harman, drawing a long 
breath, “ it interests me greatly ; but you will pardon my ex- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


33 

pressing my real feelings : I think your father was a cruel 
and unjust man.” 

“ I think my brothers, my half-brothers, were cruel and 
unjust. I don’t believe that was my father’s real will.” 

“ What ! you believe there was foul play ? This is inter- 
esting — if so, if you can prove it, you may be righted yet. 
Are your half-brothers living ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you think you have proof that you and your mother 
were unjustly treated ? ” 

“ I have no proof, no proof whatever, Miss Harman, 1 
have only suspicions.” 

“ Oh ! you will tell me what they are ? ” 

“ Even they amount to very little, and yet I feel them to 
be certainties. On the night before my father died he told 
my mother that she and I would be comfortably off; he also 
said that he wished that I and his son’s little daughter, that 
other Charlotte he called her, should grow up together as 
sisters. My father was a good man, his mind was not 
wandering at all, why should he on his deathbed have said 
this if he knew thafc he had made such an unjust will, if he 
knew that he had left my mother and her little child with- 
out a sixpence ? ” 

“Yes,” said Miss.Harmen slowly and thoughtfully, “ it 
looks strange.” 

After this for a few moments both these young women 
were silent. Mrs. Home’s eyes again sought the fire, she 
had told her story, the excitement was over, and a dull de- 
spair came back over her face. Charlotte Harman, on the 
contrary, was deep in that fine speculation which seeks to 
succor the oppressed, her grey eyes glowed, and a faint 
color came in to her cheeks. After a time she said — 

“ I should like to help you to get your rights. You saw 
that gentleman who left the room just how, that younger 
I gentleman, I am to be his wife before long— he is a lawyer, 
may I tell him your tale ? ” 

“ No, no, not for worlds.” Here Mrs. Home in her ex- 
citement rose to her feet. “ I have told the story, forget it 
now, let it die.” 

“ What a very strange woman you are, Mrs, Home ! I 
must say I cannot understand you.” 

“ You will never understand me. But it does not matter, 
we are not likely to meet again. I saw you for the first time 
yesterday. I love you, I thank you. You are a rich and 


NOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


34 

prosperous young lady, you won’t be too proud to accept my 
thanks and my love. Now good-bye.” 

“ No, you are not going in that fashion. I do not see 
why you should go at all ; you have told me your story, it 
only proves that you want money very much, there is nothing 
at all to prevent your becoming my amanuensis.” 

“ I cannot, I must not. Let me go.” 

“ But why ? I do not understand.” 

“You will never understand. I can only repeat that I 
must not come here.” 

Mrs. Home could look proud when she liked. It was 
now Miss Harman’s turn to become the suppliant ; with a 
softness of manner which in so noble-looking a girl was 
simply bewitching, she said gently — 

“ You confess that you love me.” 

Mrs. Home’s eyes filled with tears. 

“ Because I do I am going away,” she said. 

She had just revealed by this little speech a trifle too 
much, the trifle reflected a light too vivid to Charlotte Har- 
man’s mind, her face became crimson. 

“ I will know the truth,” she said, “ I will — I must. This 
story — you say it is about you ; is it all about you ? has it 
anything to say to me ? ” 

“ No, no, don’t ask me — good-bye.” 

“ I stand between you and the door until you speak. How 
old are you, Mrs. Home ? ” 

“ I am twenty-five.” 

“That is my age. Who was that Charlotte your dying 
father wished you to be a sister to ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you.” 

“ You cannot — but you must. I will know. Was it — 
but impossible ! it cannot be— am / that Charlotte ? ” 

Mrs. Home covered her face with two trembling hands | 
The other woman, with her superior intellect, had discovered 
the secret she had feebly tried to guard. There was a pause 
and a dead silence. That silence told all that was necessary 
to Charlotte Harman. After a time she said gently, but all 
the fibre and tune had left her voice, — 

“ I must think over your story, it is a very, very strange 
tale. You are right, you cannot come here ; good-bye.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


35 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WOMAN BY THE HEARTH. 

Mrs. Home went back to the small house in Kentish 
Town, and Miss Harman sat on by her comfortable fire. The 
dainty lunch was brought in and laid on the table, the young 
lady did not touch it. The soft-voiced, soft-footed servant 
brought in some letters on a silver salver. They looked 
tempting letters, thick and bulgy. Charlotte Harman turned 
her head to glance at them but she left them unopened by 
her side. She had come in very hungry, from her visit to 
the publishers, and these letters which now lay so close had 
been looked forward to with some impatience, but now she 
could neither eat nor read. At last a pretty little timepiece 
which stood on a shelf over her head struck four, and a 
clock from a neighboring church re-echoed the sound. 
Almost at the same instant there came a tap at her room 
door. 

“That is John,” said Charlotte. She shivered a little. 
Her face had changed a good deal, but she rose from her 
seat and came forward to meet her lover. 

“ Ready, Charlotte ? ” he said, laying his two hands on 
her shoulders ; then looking into her face he started back in 
some alarm. “ My dear, my dearest, something has hap- 
pened ; what is the matter ? ” 

This young woman was the very embodiment of truth. 
She did not dream of saying, “ Nothing is the matter.” She 
looked up bravely into the eyes she loved best in the world 
and answered, — 

“A good deal is the matter, John. I am very much 
vexed and — and troubled.” 

“ You will tell me all about it ; you will let me help you ? ” 
said the lover, tenderly. 

“ Yes, John dear, but not to-night. I want to think to- 
night. I want to know more. To-morrow you shall hear ; 
certainly to-morrow. No, I will not go out with you. Is my 
father in ? Is Uncle Jasper in ? ” 


36 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


“ Your father is out, and your uncle is going. I left him 
buttoning on his great-coat in the hall.” . 

“ Oh ! I must see Uncle Jasper; forgive me, I must see 
him for a minute.” 

She flew downstairs, leaving John Hinton standing alone, 
a little puzzled and a little vexed. Breathless she arrived in 
the hall to find her uncle descending the steps ; she rushed 
after him and laid her hand on his shoulder. 

“ Uncle Jasper, I want you. Where are you going? ’ 

“ Hoity-toity,” said the old gentleman, turning round in 
some surprise, and even dismay when he caught sight of her 
face. “ I am going to the club, child. What next. I sent 
Hinton up to you. What more do you want.” 

“ I want you. I have a story to tell you and a question 
to ask you. You must come back.” 

“ Lottie, I said I would have nothing to do with those 
books of yours, and I won’t. I hate novels, and I hate nov- 
elists. Forgive me, child. I don’t hate you ; but if your 
father and John Hinton between them mean to spoil a fine 
woman by encouraging her to become that monster of nature, 
a blue-stocking, I won’t help them, and that’s flat. There 
now. Let me go.” 

“ It is no fiction I want to ask you, Uncle Jasper. It is 
a true tale, one I have just heard. It concerns me and you 
and my father. It has pained me very much, but I believe 
it can be cleared up. I would rather ask you than my father 
about it, at least at first; but either of you can answer what 
I want to know ; so if you will not listen to me I can speak 
to my father after dinner.” 

Uncle Jasper had one of those faces which reveal noth- 
ing, and it revealed nothing now.. But the keen eyes looked 
hard into the open gray eyes of the girl who stood by his 
side. 

“ What thread out of that tangled skin has she got into j 
her head ? ” he whispered to himself. Aloud he said, “ I ; 
will come back to dinner, Charlotte, and afterwards you shall 
take me up to your little snuggery. If you are in trouble, 
my dear, you had better confide in me than in your father. 5 
He does not — does not look very strong.” 

Then he walked clown the street ; but when he’reached 
his club he did not enter it. He walked on and on. He 
puzzling, not so much over his niece’s strange words as over 
something else. Who was that woman who sat by Char- 
lotte’s hearth that day ? 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUHD. 


37 


CHAPTER IX. 

CHARLOTTE CANNOT BEAR THE DARK. 

The elder Mr. Harman had retired to his study, and 
Charlotte and her uncle sat side by side in that young lady’s 
own private apartment. The room looked snug and shel- 
tered, and the subdued light from a Queen’s reading-lamp, and 
from the glowing embers of a half burned-out fire, were 
very pleasant. Uncle Jasper was leaning back in an arm- 
chair, but Charlotte stood on the hearthrug. Soft and faint 
as the light was, it revealed burning cheeks and shining 
eyes ; but the old face these tokens of excitement appealed 
to remained completely in shadow. 

Charlotte had told the shory she had heard that day, and 
during its whole recital her uncle had sat motionless, making 
no comment either by word or exclamation. 

Mrs. Home’s tale had been put into skilful hands. It 
was well told — all the better because the speaker so earnest- 
ly hoped that its existence might turn out a myth — that the 
phantom so suddenly conjured up might depart as quickly 
as it had arrived. At last the story came to a conclusion. 
There was a pause, and Charlotte said, — 

“Well, Uncle Jasper?” 

“ Well, Lottie ? ” he answered. And now he roused him- 
self, and bent a little forward. 

“ Is the story true, Uncle Jasper ? ” 

“ It is certainly true, Charlotte, that my father and your 
grandfather married again.” 

“ Yes, uncle.” 

“ It is also highly probable that this young woman is the 
daughter of that marriage. When I saw her in this room to- 
day I was puzzled by an intangible likeness in her. This 
accounts for it.” 

“ Then why ” began Charlotte, and then she stopped. 

There was a whole world of bitterness in her tone. 

“ Sit down, child,” said her uncle. He pointed to a foot- 
stool at his feet. Whenever he came into this room Char- 
lotte had occupied this footstool, and he wanted her to take 


HOIV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


it now, but she would not ; she still kept her place on the 
hearth. 

“ I cannot sit,” she said. “ I am excited — greatly ex- 
cited. This looks to me in the light of a wrong.” 

“Who do you think has commited the wrong, Char- 
lotte ? ” 

Before she answered, Charlotte Harman lit a pair of can- 
dles which stood on the mantelshelf. 

“ There, now,” she said with a sigh of relief, “ I can see 
your face. It is dreadful to speak to any one in the dark. 
Uncle Jasper, if I had so near a relation living all these , 
years why was I never told of it ? I have over and over 
again longed for a sister, and it seems I had one, or one who 
might have been to me a sister. Why was I kept in igno- 
rance of her very existence ? ” 

“ You are like all women — unreasonable, Lottie. I am 
glad to find you so human, my dear ; so human, and — and — 
womanly. You jump to conclusions without hearing reasons. 
Now I will give you the reasons. But I do wish you would 
sit down.” 

“ I will sit here,” said Charlotte, and she drew a chair 
near the table. The room abounded in easy-chairs of all 
sizes and descriptions, but she chose one hard and made of 
cane, and she sat upright upon it, her hands folded on her 
lap. “Now, Uncle Jasper,” she said, “I am ready to hear 
your reasons.” 

“ They go a good way back, my dear, and I am not clever 
at telling a story ; but I will do my best. Your grandfather 
made his money in trade ; he made a good business, and he put 
your father and me both into it. It is unnecessary to go in- 
to particulars about our special business ; it was small at • 
first, but we extended it until it became the great firm of 
which your father is the present head. We both, your father 
and I, showed even more aptitude for this life of mercantile 
success than our father did, and he, perceiving this, retired 
while scarcely an old man. He made us over the entire \ 
business he had made, taking, however, from it, for his own 
private use, a large sum of money. On the interest of this 
money he would live, promising, however, to return it to us 
at his death. The money taken out of the business rather 
crippled us, and we begged of him to allow us to pay him 
the interest, and to let the capital remain at our disposal ; 
but he wished to be completely his own master, and he 
bought a place in Hertfordshire out of part of the money. 


HOW IT AIL CAME ROUND . 


39 


It was a year or two after, that he met his second wife and 
married her. I don’t pretend,” continued Uncle Jasper, 
“ that we liked this marriage or our stepmother, We were 
young fellows then, and we thought our father had done us 
an injustice. The girl he had chosen was an insipid little 
thing, with just a pretty face, and nothing whatever else. 
She was not quite a lady. We saw her, and came to the 
conclusion that she was common — most unsuited to our father. 
We also remembered our own mother ; and most young men 
feel pain at seeing any one put into her place. 

“ We expostulated with our father. He was a fiery old 
man, and hot words passed between us. I won’t repeat what 
we all said, my dear, or how bitter John and I felt when we 
rode away from the old place our father had just purchased. 
One thing he said as we were going off. 

“ My marrying again won’t make any money difference 
to you two fellows, and I suppose I may please myself.’ ” 

“ I think my grandfather was very unjust,” said Charlotte, 
but nevertheless a look of relief stole over her face. 

“ We went back to our business, my dear, and our father 
married ; and when we wrote to him he did not answer our 
letters. After a time we heard a son had been born, and 
then, shortly after the birth of this child, the news reached 
us, that a lawyer had been summoned down to the manor- 
house in Hertfordshire. We supposed that our father was 
making provision for the child ; and it seemed to us fair 
enough. Then we saw the child’s death in the Times , and 
shortly after the news also came to us that the same lawyer 
had gone down again to see our father. 

“ After this, a few years went by, and we, busy with our 
own life, gave little heed to the old man, who seemed to have 
forgotten us. Suddenl / we were summoned to his deathbed. 
John, your father, my dear, had always been his favorite. 
On his deathbed he seemed to have returned to the old 
times, when John was a little fellow. He liked to have him 
by his side ; in short, he could not bear to have him out of 
his sight. He appeared to have forgotten the poor, common 
little wife he had married, and to live his early days over 
again. He died quite reconciled to us both, and we held 
his hand as he breathed his last. 

. “ To our surprise, my dear, we found that he had left us 
every penny of his fortune. The wife and baby girl were left 
totally unprovided for. We were amazed ! We thought it 
unjust. We instantly resolved to make provision for 


40 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


and her baby. We did so. She never wanted to the day of 
her death.” 

“ She did not starve,” interrupted Charlotte, “ but you 
shut her out, her and her child, from yourselves, and from 
me. Why did you do this ? ” 

“ My dear, you would scarcely speakm that tone to your 
father, and it was his wish as well as mine — indeed, far 
more his wish than mine. I was on the eve of going to Aus- 
tralia, to carry on a branch of our trade there ; but he was 
remaining at home. He was not very long married. You 
don’t remember your mother, Charlotte. Ah ! what a fine 
young creature she was, but proud — proud of her high birth 
— of a thousand things, It would have been intolerable to 
her to associate with one like my stepmother. Your father 
was particular about his wife and child. He judged it best 
to keep these undesirable relations apart. I, for one, can 
scarcely blame him.” 

“ I will not blame my father,” said Charlotte. “ Again 
that look of relief had stolen over her face. The healthy 
tint, which was scarcely color, had returned to her cheek ; 
and the tension of her attitude was also withdrawn, for she 
changed her seat, taking possession now of her favorite 
easy-chair. “ But I like Charlotte Home,” she said after a 
pause. “ She is — whatever her mother may have been — 
quite a lady. I think it is hard that when she is so nearly 
related to me she should be so poor and I so rich. I will 
speak to my father. He asked me only this morning what I 
should like as a wedding present. I know what I shall like. 
He will give that three thousand pounds to Charlotte Home. 
The money her mother had for her life she shall have for 
ever. I know my father won’t refuse me.” 

Charlotte’s eyes were on the ground, and she did not see 
the dark expression which for a moment passed over Jasper 
Harman’s face. Before he answered her he poked the fire 
into a vigorous flame. 

“ You are a generous girl, Lottie,” he said then. “ I ad- 
mire your spirit. But it is plain, my dear, that money has 
come as easily to you as the very air you breathe, or you 
would not speak of three thousand pounds in a manner so 
light as almost to take one’s breath away. But suppose — 
suppose the money could be given, there is another difficulty. 
To get that money for Mrs. Home, who, by the way, has her 
husband to provide for her, you must tell this tale to your 
father — you must not do that.” 


NOW TT ALL CAME ROUND . 


41 


Why not ? ” asked Charlotte, opening her eyes wide in 
Urprise. 

“ Simply because he is ill, and the doctors have forbidden 
him to be in the least agitated.” 

“ Uncle Jasper — I know he is not well, but I did not 
hear this ; and why — why should what I have to say agitate 

“ Because he cannot bear any allusion to the past. He 
loved his father ; he cannot dwell on those years when they 
were estranged. My dear,” continued old Uncle Jasper “I 
am glad you came with this tale to me — it would have done 
your father harm. The doctors hope soon to make him 
much better, but at present he must hear nothing likely to 
give rise to gloomy thoughts ; wait until he is better, my 
dear. And if you want help for this Mrs. Home, you must 
appeal to me. Promise me that, Lottie.” 

“ I will promise, certainly, not to injure my father, but I 
confess you puzzle me.” 

“ I am truly sorry, my dear. I will think over your tale, 
but now I must go to John. Will you come with me ? ” 

“ No, thanks ; I would rather stay here.” 

“ Then we shall not meet again, for in an hour I am off 
to my club. Good-night, my dear” 

And Charlotte could not help noticing how soft and cat- 
like were the footsteps of the old Australian uncle as he 
stole away. 


CHAPTER X. 

JOHN AND JASPER HARMAN. 

Jaspar Harman was sixty years old at this time, but the 
-days of his pilgrimage had passed lightly over him, neither 
impairing his frame nor his vigor. At sixty years of age he 
could think as clearly, sleep as comfortably, eat as well — 
nay, even walk as far as he did thirty years ago. His life 
in the Antipodes seemed to have agreed with him. It is 
true his hair was turning gray, and his shrewd face had many 
wrinkles on it, but these seemed more the effects of climate 
than of years. He looked like a man whom no heart-trouble 


42 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


had ever touched and in this doubtless lay the secret of his 
perpetual youth. Care might sweep him very close, but it 
could not enter an unwelcome guest, to sit on the hearth of 
his holy of holies ; into the innermost shrine of his being it 
could scarcely find room to enter. His was the kind of na- 
ture to whom remorse even for a sin committed must be al- 
most unknown. His affections were not his strong point. 
Most decidedly his intellect overbalanced his heart. But 
without an undue preponderance of heart he was good- 
natured ; he would pat a chubby little cheek, if he passed it 
in the street, and he would talk in a genial and hearty way 
to those beneath him in life. In business matters he was 
considered very shrewd and hard, but those who had no 
such dealings with him pronounced him a kindly soul. His 
smile was genial ; his manner frank and pleasant. He had 
one trick, however, which no servant could bear — his step 
was as soft as a cat’s ; he must be on your heels before you 
had the faintest clue to his approach. 

In this stealthy way he now left his niece’s room, stole : 
down the thickly carpeted stairs, crept across a tiled hall, 
and entered the apartment where his elder brother waited 
for him. 

John Harman was only one year Jasper’s senior, but 
there looked a much greater difference between them. 
Jasper was young for his years ; John was old ; nay, more — 
he was very old. In youth he must have been a handsome " 
man ; in age for every one spoke of him as aged, he was 
handsome still. He was tall, over six feet ; his hair was 
silver-white ; his eyes very deep set, very dark. Their ex- 
pression was penetrating, kind, but sad. His mouth was 
firm, but had some lines round it which puzzled you. His 
smile, which was rare and seldom seen, was a wintry one. 
You would rather John Harman did not smile at you ; you 
felt miserable afterwards. All who knew him said instinc- 
tively that John Harman had known some great trouble. 
Most people attributed it to the death of his wife, but, as 
this happened twenty years ago, others shook their heads 
and felt puzzled. Whatever the sorrow, however, which so 
perpetually clouded the fine old face, the nature of the 
man was so essentially noble that he was universally loved 
and respected. 

John Harmon was writing a letter when his brother en- 
tered. He pushed aside his writing materials, however, and 
raised his head with a sigh of relief. In Jasper’s presence 

1 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


43 

there was always one element of comfort. He need cover 
over no anxieties ; his old face looked almost sharp he 
wheeled his chair round to the fire. 

“ No, you are not interrupting me,” he began. “ This 
letter can keep ; it is not a business one. I never transact 
business at home.” Then he added, as Jasper sank into 
the opposite chair, “ You have been having a long chat with 
the child. I am glad she is getting fond of you.” 

“ She is a fine girl,” said Jasper ; “ a fine, generous girl. 
I like her, even though she does dabble in literature ; and I 
like Hinton too. When are they to be married, John? ” 

“ When Hinton gets his first brief — not before,” answered 
John Harman. 

“ Well, well, he’s a clever chap ; I don’t see why you 
should wait for that — he’s safe to get on. If I were you, I’d 
like to see my girl comfortably settled. One can never tell 
what may happen ! ” z 

“ What may happen ! ” repeated the elder Harman. 
“ Do you allude now to the doctor’s verdict on myself. I 
did not wish Charlotte acquainted with it.” 

“ Pooh ! my dear fellow, there’s nothing to alarm our 
girl in that quarter. I’d lay my own life you have many 
long years before you. No, Charlotte knows you are not 
well, and that is all she need ever know. I was not alluding 
to your health, but to the fact that that fine young woman 
upstairs is, just to use a vulgar phrase, eating her own head 
off for want of something better to do. She is dabbling in 
print. Of course her book must fail. She is full of all 
kinds of chimerical expedients. Why, this very evening she 
was propounding the most preposterous scheme to me, as 
generous as it was nonsensical. No, no, my dear fellow, 
even to you I won’t betray confidence. The girl is an 
enthusiast. Now enthusiasts are always morbid and unhappy 
unless they can find vent for their energies. Why don’t you give 
her the natural and healthy vents supplied by wifehood and 
motherhood ? Why do you wait for Hinton’s first brief to make 
them happy ? You have money enough to make them happy 
at once.” 

“Yes, yes, Jasper — it is not that. It is just that I want 
the young man not to be altogether dependent on his wife. 
I am fonder of Hinton than of any other creature in the 
world except my own child. Tor his sake I ask for his short 
delay to their marriage. Oa the day he briags at news of 
that brief I take the first steps f settle on Charlatte a 


44 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


thousand a year during my lifetime. I make arrangements 
that her eldest son inherits the business, and I make further 
provision for any other children she may have.” 

“ Well, my dear fellow, all that sounds very nice ; and if 
Hinton was not quite the man he is I should say, ‘Wait for 
the brief.’ But I believe that having a wife will only make 
him seek that said brief all the harder. I see success 
before that future son-in-law of yours.” 

“And you are a shrewd observer of character, Jasper,” 
answered his brother. 

Neither of the men spoke for some time after this, and 
presently Jasper rose to go. He had all but reached the 
door when he turned back. 

“ You will be in good time in the city to-morrow, John.” 

“ Yes, of course. Not that there is anything very special 
going on. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Only that we must give an answer to that question of 
the trusteeship to the Rutherford orphans. I know you 
object to the charge, still it seems a pity for the sake of a 
sentiment.” 

Instantly John Harman, who had been crouching over 
the fire, rose to his full height. His deep-set eyes flashed, 
his voice trembled with some hardly suppressed anguish. 

“Jasper ! ” he said suddenly and sharply ; then he added, 
“ you have but one answer to that question from me — never, 
never, as long as I live, shall our firm become trustees for even 
sixpence worth. You know my feelings on that point, 
Jasper, and they shall never change.” 

“ You are a fool for your pains, then,” muttered Jasper, 
but he closed the door rather hastily behind him. 


CHAPTER XI. 

, “ A PET DAY.” 

At breakfast the next morning Charlotte Harman was in 
almost wild spirits. Her movement's were generally rather 
sedate, as befitted one s® tall, so finely proportioned, so 
dignified. To-day her step seemed set to some hidden rhyth- 
mic measure ; her eyes laughed ; her gracious, kindly mouth 




HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


45 


was wreathed in perpetual smiles. Her father, on the con- 
trary, looked more bent, more careworn, more aged even 
than usual. Looking, however, into her eyes for light, his 
own brightened. As he ate his frugal breakfast of coffee 
and dry toast he spoke : 

“ Charlotte, your Uncle Jasper came to me last night 
with a proposal on your behalf.” 

“ Yes, father,” answered Charlotte. She looked up ex- 
pectantly. She thought of Mrs. Home. Her uncle had 
told the tale after all, and her dear and generous father, would 
refuse her nothing. She should have the great joy of giving 
three thousand pounds to that poor mother for the use of 
her little children. 

The next words, however, uttered by Mr. Harman caused 
these dreams to be dispelled by others more golden. The 
most generous woman must at times think first of herself. 
Charlotte was very generous ; but her father’s next words 
brought dimples into very prominent play in each cheek. 

“ My darling, Jasper thinks me very cruel to postpone 
your marriage. I will not postpone it. You and Hinton 
may fix the day. I will take that brief of his on trust.” 

No woman likes an indefinite engagement, and Charlotte 
was not the exception to prove this rule. 

“ Dearest father,” she said, “ I am very happy at this. I 
will tell John. He is coming over this morning. But you 
know my conditions ? No wedding day for me unless my 
father agrees to live with me afterwards.” 

“ Settle it as you please, dear child. I don’t think there 
would be much sunshine left for me if you were away from 
me. And now I suppose you will be very busy. You have 
carte blanche for the trousseau, but your book ? will you have 
time to write it, Charlotte ? And that young woman whom I 
saw in your room yesterday, is she the amanuensis whom 
you told me about ? ” 

“ She is’the lady whom I hoped to have secured, father, 
but she is not coming.” 

“Not coming! I ' rather -liked her look, she seemed 
.quite a lady. : ' Did you offer her' too small remuneration ? 
not. that that would be your ' way, but you do not perhaps 
know what such labor is, worth.” , . ■ 

“ It was not that, dear 'father. I offered her what she 
herself, considered a very handsome sum. It was not that. 
She is very poor ! very very poor and -she has three little 
children. I never saw such a hungry -look in any eyes as she 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


46 

had, when she spoke of what money would be to her. But 
she gave me a reason — a reason which I am not at liberty to 
tell to you, whichmakes it impossible for her to come here.” 

Charlotte’s cheeks were burning now, and something in 
her tone caused her father to gaze at her attentively. It was 
not his way, however, to press for any confidence not volun- 
tarily offered. He rose from his seat with a slight sigh. 

“ Well, dear,” he said, “ you must look for some one else. 
We can’t talk over matters to-night. Ask Hinton to stay 
and dine. There ; I must be off, I am very late as it is.” 

Mr. Harman kissed his daughter and she went out as 
usual to button on his great-coat and see him down the street 
She had performed this office for him ever since — a little 
mite of four years old — she had tried to take her dead mother’s 
place. The child, the growing girl, the young woman, had 
all in turns stood on those steps, and watched that figure 
walking away. But never until to-day had she noticed how 
aged and bent it had grown. For the first time the possi- 
bility visited her heart that there might be such a thing 
for her in the future as life without her father. 

Uncle Jasper had said he was not well ; no, he did not 
look well. Her eyes filled with tears as she closed the hall 
door and re-entered the house. But her own prospects were 
too golden just now to permit her to dwell as long, or as 
anxiously, as she otherwise would have done, on so gloomy an 
aspect of her father’s case. 

Charlotte Harman was twenty-five years of age ; but, ex- 
cept when her mother died, death had "never come near her 
young life. She could scarcely remember her mother, and, with 
this one exception, death and sickness were things unknown. 
She has heard of them of course ; but the grim practical 
knowledge, the standing face to face with the foe, were not her 
experience. She was the kind of woman who could develop 
into the most tender nurse, into the wisest, best, and most 
helpful guide, through those same dark roads of sickness 
and death, but the training for this was all to come, No 
wonder that in her inexperience she should soon cease to 
dwell on her father’s bent figure and drawn, white face. A 
reaction was over her, and she must yield to it. 

As she returned to the comfortable breakfast-room, her 
eyes shone brighter through their momentary tears.' She 
went over and stood by the hearth. She was a most industri- 
ous creature, having^ trained herself not to waste an instant ; 
but to-day she must indulge in a happy reverie. 


HOW rr ALL CAME ROUND . 


47 


How dark had been those few hours after Mrs. Home ' 
had left her yesterday ; how undefined, how dim, and yet how 
dark had been her suspicions ! She did not know what to 
think, or whom to suspect ; but she felt that, cost her what 
it might, she must fathom the truth, and that having once 
fathomed it, something might be revealed to her that would 
embitter and darken her whole life. 

And behold ! she had done so. She had bravely grasped 
the phanton in both hands, and it had vanished into thin air. 
What she dreamed was not. There was no disgrace any- 
where. A morbid young woman had conjured up a possible 
tale of wrong. There was no wrong. She, Mrs. Home; 
was to be pitied, and Charlotte would help her ; but beyoud 
this no dark or evil thing had come into her life. 

And now, what a great further good was in store for her 1 
Her father had most unexpectedly withdrawn his opposi- 
tion over the slight delay he had insisted upon to her mar- 
riage. Charlotte did not know until now how she had 
chafed at this delay ; how she had longed to be the wife of 
the man she loved. She said, “ Thank God L” under her 
breath, then ran upstairs to her own room. 

Charlotte’s maid had the special care of this room. It 
was a sunshiny morning, and the warm spring air came in 
through the open window. 

“ Yes, leave it open,” she said to the girl ; “ it seems as 
if spring had really come to day.” 

“ But it is winter still, madam, February is not yet over,” 
replied the lady’s maid. “ Better let me shut it, Miss Har- 
man, this is only a pet day.” 

“ I will enjoy it then, Ward,” answered Miss Harman. 

“ And now leave me, for I am very busy.” 

The maid withdrew, and Charlotte seated herself by her 
writing table. She was engaged over a novel which Messrs. 

M , of Street, had pronounced really good ; they 

would purchase the copyright, and they wanted the MS. by 
a given date. How eager she had felt about this yesterday ; 
how determined not to let anything interfere with its com- 
pletion ! But to-day, she took up her pen as usual, read 
over the last page she had written, then sat quiet, waiting 
for inspiration. 

What was the matter with her ? No thought came. As 
a rule thoughts flowed freely, proceeding fast from the brain 
to the pen, from the pen to the paper. But to-day ? What 
ailed her to-day ? The fact was, the most natural thing in 


4 $ HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

the world had come to stop the flow of Action. It was put 
out by a greater fire. The moon could shine brilliantly at 
night ; but how sombre it looked beside the sun ! The great 
sunshine of her own personal joy was flooding Charlotte’s 
heart to-day, and the griefs and delights of the most attrac- 
tive heroine in the world must sink into insignificance beside 
it. She sat waiting for about a quarter of an hour, then 
threw down her pen in disgust. She pulled out her watch. 
Hinton could not be with her before the afternoon. The 
morning was glorious. What had Ward, her maid, called the 
day ? — “ a pet day.” Well, she would enjoy it ; she would 
go out. She ran to her room, enveloped herself in some rich 
and becoming furs, and went into the street. She walked on 
a little way, rather undecided where to turn her steps. In 
an instant she could have found herself in Kensington Gar- 
dens or Hyde Park ; but, just because they were so easy of 
access, they proved unattractive. She must wander farther 
afleld. She beckoned to a passing hansom. 

“ I want to go somewhere where I shall have green grass 
and trees,’* she said to the cabby. “ No, it must not be 
Hyde Park, somewhere farther off.” 

“ There’s the Regent’s,” replied the man. “ I’ll drive 
yer there and back wad pleasure, my lady.” 

“ I will go to Regent’s Park,” said Charlotte. She made 
up her mind, as she was swiftly bowled along, that she would 
walk back. She was just in that condition of suppressed ex- 
citement, when a walk would be the most delightful safety- \ 
valve in the world. 

In half an hour she found herself in Regent’s Park and, j 
having dismissed her cab, wandered about amongst the trees. 
The whole place was flooded with sunshine. There were no \ 
flowers visible ; the season had been too bad, and the year 
was yet too young ; but for all that, nature seemed to be 
awake and listening. 

Charlotte walked about until she felt tired, then she sat \ 
down on one of the many seats to rest until it was time to 
return home. Children were running about everywhere, i 
Charlotte loved children. Many an afternoon had she gone 
into Kensington Gardens for the mere and sole purpose of 
watching them. Here were children, too, as many as there, 
but of a different class. Not quite so aristrocratic, not quite 
so exclusively belonging to the world of rank and fashion. 
The children in Regent’s Park were certainly quite as well 
dressed ; but there was just some little indescribable thing 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


49 

missing in them, which the little creatures, whom Charlotte 
Harman was most accustomed to notice, possessed. 

She was commenting on this, in that vague and slight 
way one does when all their deepest thoughts are elsewhere, 
when a man came near and shared her seat. He was a tall 
man, very slight, very thin. Charlotte, just glancing at him 
took in this much also, that he was a clergyman. He sat 
down to rest, evidently doing so from great fatigue. Selfish 
in her happiness, Charlotte presently returned to her golden 
dreams. The children came on fast, group after group ; 
some pale and thin, some rosy and healthy ; a few scantily 
clothed, a few overladen with finery. They laughed and 
scampered past her. For, be the circumstances what they 
might, all the little hearts seemed full of mirth and sweet 
content. At last a very small nurse appeared, wheeling a 
perambulator, while two children ran by her side. These 
children were dressed neatly, but with no attempt at fashion. 
The baby in the shabby perambulator was very beautiful. 
The little group were walking past rather more slowly than 
most of the other groups, for the older boy and girl looked 
decidedly tired, when suddenly they all stopped ; the servant 
girl opened her mouth until it remained fixed in the form of a 
round O; the baby raised its arms and crowed ; the elder boy 
and girl uttered a glad shout and ran forward. 

“ Father, father, you here ? said the boy. “ You here ? ” 
echoed the girl, and the whole cavalcade drew up in front of 
Charlotte and the thin clergyman. The boy in an instant 
was on his father’s knee, and the girl, helping herself might- 
ily by Charlotte’s dress, had got on the bench. 

The baby seeing this began to cry. The small nurse 
seemed incapable of action, and Charlotte herself had to come 
to the rescue. She lifted the little seven months old crea- 
ture out of its carriage, and placed it in its father’s arms. 

He raised his eyes gratefully to her face and placed his 
arm round the baby. 

“ Oh ! I’m falling,” said the girl. 1 This seat is so slip- 
py, may I sit on your knee ? ” 

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Char- 
lotte to take this strange, shabbily dressed little girl into her 
embrace. 

The child began to stroke down and admire her soft 
furs. 

“ Aren’t they lovely ? ” she said. “ Oh, Harold, look 1 
Feel ’em, Harold ; they’re like pussies.” 


5 ° 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


Harold, absorbed with his father, turned his full blue eyes 
round gravely and fixed them not on the furs, but on the 
strange lady’s face. 

“ Father,” he said in a slow, solemn tone, “ may I kiss 
that pretty lady ? ” 

“ My dear boy, no, no. I am ashamed of you. Now run 
away, children; go on with your walk. Nurse, take baby.” 

The children were evidently accustomed to implicit obedi- 
ence. They went without a word. 

“ But I will kiss Harold first,” said Charlotte Harman, 
and she stooped down and pressed her lips to the soft round 
cheek. 

“ Thank you,” said the clergyman. Again he looked 
into her face and smiled. 

The smile on his careworn face reminded Charlotte of 
the smile on St. Stephen’s face, when he was dying. It 
was unearthly, angelic ; but it was also very fleeting. Pres- 
ently he added in a grave tone, — 

“ You have evidently the great gift of attracting the 
heart of a little child. Pardon me if I add a hope that 
you may never lose it.” 

“ Is that possible ? ” asked Charlotte. 

“ Yes ; when you lose the child spirit, the power will 
g°” 

“Oh! then I hope it never will,” she replied. 

“ It never will if you keep the Christ bright within you,”, 
he answered. Then he raised his hat to her, smiled again, 
and walked away. 

He was a strange man, and Charlotte felt attracted as 
well as repelled. She was proud, and at another time and 
from other lips such words would have been received with 
disdain. But this queer, shadowy-looking clergyman looked 
like an unearthly visitant. She watched his rather weak 
footsteps, as he walked quietly away in the northern di- 
rection through the park. Then she got up and prepared 
to return home. But this little incident had sobered her. 
She was not unhappy; but she now felt very grave. The 
child spirit ! She must keep it alive, and the Christ must 
dwell bright within her. 

Charlotte’s temperament was naturally religious. Her 
nature was so frank and noble that she could not but 
drink in the good as readily as the flower receives the 
dew ; but she had come to this present fulness of her youth- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 5I 

ful vigor without one trial being sent to test the gold. She 
entered the house after her long walk to find Hinton waiting 
or her. 


CHAPTER XII. 

FOUR MONTHS HENCE. 

Hinton had gone away the day before rather disturbed 
by Charlotte’s manner. He had found her, for the first time 
since their betrothal, in trouble. Wishing to comfort, she 
had repelled him. He was a strong man, as strong in 
his own way as Charlotte was in hers, and this power of stand- 
ing alone scarcely pleased him in her. His was the kind of 
nature which would be supposed to take for its other half 
one soft and clinging. Contrary to the established rule, 
however, he had won this proud and stately Charlotte. She 
thought him perfection : he was anything but that. But 
he had good points, there was nothing mean or base about 
him. There were no secrets hidden away in his life. His 
was an honorable and manly nature. But he had one 
little fault, running like a canker through the otherwise 
healthy fruit of his heart. While Charlotte was frank 
and open as the day, he was reserved ; not only reserved, 
but suspicious. All the men who knew Hinton said what a 
capital lawyer he would make, he had all the qualities neces- 
sary to insure success in his profession. Above all things 
in the world secrets oppressed, irritated, and yet interested 
him. Once having heard of any little possible mystery, he 
could not rest until it was solved. 

This had been his character from a boy. His own 
brothers and sisters had confided in him, not because they 
found him particularly sympathetic, or particularly clever 
not because they loved him so much, but simply because 
they could pot help themselves. John would hav^e found out 
all the. small childish matter without their aid r ; it was better, 
safer to take him into cpnfidence. Then, tp dp ; him juspge, 
he was true as steel ; fer though he must discover; ha would 
seotn to betray. 

On the white, untroubled sheet of Charlette fiarmen’s 


52 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


heart no secrets yet had been written. Consequently, 
though she had been engaged for many months to John Hin- 
ton, she had never found out this peculiarity about him. 
Those qualities of openness and frankness, so impossible to 
his own nature, had attracted him most of all to this beauti- 
ful young woman. Never until yesterday had there been 
breath or thought of concealment about her. But then — then 
he had found her in trouble. Full of sympathy he had drawn 
near to comfort, and she had repelled him. She had heard 
of something which troubled her, which troubled her to such 
an extent that the very expression of her bright face had 
changed, and yet this something was to be a secret from him 
— true, only until the following day, but a whole twenty-four 
hours seemed like for ever to Hinton in his impatience. Be- 
fore hecould even expostulate with her she had run off, 
doubtless to confide her eare to another. Perhaps the best 
way to express John Hinton’s feelings would be to say that 
he was very cross as he returned to his chambers in Lincoln’s 
Inn. 

All that evening, through his dreams all that night, all 
the following morning as he tried to engage himself over his 
law books, he pondered on Charlotte’s secret. Such ponder- 
ing must in a nature like his excite apprehension. He ar- 
rived on the next day at the house in Prince’s Gate with his 
mind full of gloomy forebodings. His face was so grave that 
it scarcely cleared up at the sight of the bright one raised to 
meet it. He was full of the secret of yesterday ; Charlotte, 
in all the joy of the secret of to-day, had already forgotten it. 

“ Oh, I have had such a walk ! ” she exclaimed ; “ and a 
little bit of an adventure — a pretty adventure; and now I am 
starving. Come into the dining-room and have some lunch.” 

“You look very well,” answered her lover, “and I left 
you so miserable yesterday ! ” . 

“ Yesterday ! ” repeated Charlotte ; she had forgotten 
yesterday. “ Oh, yes, I had heard something very disagree- 
able : .but when I looked info the matter, it turned out to be 
nothing.”, > 

“ You will, tell ine all about it, dear .. ; • ’ 

“ Well, I don't know, John. I would of. course if there 
w.as v anything; to tell but do ,come and have some lunch, I 
cannot even mention something else much more important 
until I have had some lunch.” 

John 'Hinton frowned. Even that allusion to something 
much more important did not satisfy him. He must know 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


S3 

this other thing. What ! spend twenty-four hours of misery, 
and not learn what it was all about in the end ! Charlotte’s 
happiness, however, could not but prove infectious, and the 
two made merry over their meal, and not until they found 
themselves in Charlotte’s own special sanctum did Hinton 
resume his grave manner. Then he began at once. 

“ Now, Charlotte, you will tell me why you looked so 
grave and scared yesterday. I have been miserable enough 
thinking of it ever since. I don’t understand why you did 
not confide in me at once.” 

“ Dear John,” she said — she saw now. that he had been 
really hurt — “ I would not give you pain for worlds, my dearest. 
Yes, I was much perplexed, I was even very unhappy for the 
time. A horrid doubt had been put into my head, but it 
turned out nothing, nothing whatever. Let us forget it, dear 
John ; I have something much more important to tell you.” 

“ Yes, afterwards, but you will tell me this, even though 
it did turn out of no consequence.” 

“ Please, John dear, I would rather not. I was assailed 
by a most unworthy suspicion. It turned out nothing, nothing 
at all. I would rather, seeing it was all a myth, you never 
knew of it.” 

“ And I would rather know, Charlotte ; the myth shall be 
dismissed from mind, too, but I would rather be in your full 
confidence.” 

“ My full confidence ? ” she repeated ; the expression 
pained her. She looked hard at Hinton ; his words were 
very’ quietly spoken, but there was a cloud on his brow. “ You 
shall certainly have my full confidence,” she said after that 
brief pause ; “ which will you hear first, what gave me pain 
yesterday, or what brings me joy to-day ? ” 

“ What gave you pain yesterday.” 

There is no doubt she had hoped he would have made the 
latter choice, but seeing he did not she submitted at once, 
sitting, npt as was her wont close to his side, but on a chair 
opposite. Hinton sat with his back to the light, but it fell 
full on Charlotte, and he could see every line of her innocent 
and noble face as she told her tale. Having got to tell it, 
she did so in few but simple words ; Mrs. Horae’s story com- 
ing of a necessity first, her Uncle Jasper’s explanation last. 
When the whole tale was told, she paused, then said,* — 

You see there was nothing in ih” 

“ I see,” answered Hinton. This was his first remark. He 
had not interrupted the progress of the narrative by a single 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


54 

observation ; then he added, “ But I think, if even your 
father does not feel disposed to help her, that we, you and I, 
Charlotte, ought to do something for Mrs. Home.” 

“ Oh, John dear, how you delight me ! How good and 
noble you are ! Yes, my heart aches for that poor mother ; 
yes, we will help her. You and I, how very delightful it will 
be ! ” 

Now she came close to her lover and kissed him, and he 
returned her embrace. 

“ You will never have a secret again from me, my dar- 
ling ? ” he said. 

“ I never, never had one,” she answered, for it was im- 
possible for her to understand that this brief delay in her 
confidence could be considered a secret. “ Now for my 
other news,” she said. 

“Now for your other news,” he repeated. 

“John, what is the thing you desire most in the world ?” 

Of course this young man being sincerely attached to 
this young woman, answered, — 

“You, Charlotte.” 

“John, you always said you did not like Uncle Jasper, 
but see what a good turn he has done us — he has persuaded 
my father to allow us to marry at once.” 

“ What, without my brief ? ” 

“ Yes, without your brief ; my dear father told me this 
morning that we may fix the day whenever we like. He 
says *he will stand in the way no longer. He is quite sure of 
that brief, we need not wait to be happy for it, we may fix 
our wedding-day, John, and you are to dine here this evening 
and have a talk with my father afterwards.” 

Hinton’s face had grown red. He was a lover, and an 
attached one ; but so diverse were the feelings stirred within 
him, that for the moment he felt more excited than elated. 

“Your father is very good,” he said, “he gives us leave 
to fix the day. Very well, that is your province, my Lottie ; 
when shall it be ? ” 

“ This is the twentieth of February, our wedding-day 
shall be on the twentieth of June,” she replied. 

“ That is four months hence,” he said. In spite of him- 
self there was a sound of relief in his tone. “ Very well, 
Charlotte ; yes, I will come and dine this evening. But now 
I am late for an appointment ; we will have a long talk after 
dinner 1 .” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


55 


CHAPTER XIII. 

HIS FIRST BRIEF. 

Hinton, when he left Charlotte, went straight back to his 
chambers. He had no particular work to hurry him there ; 
indeed, when he left that morning he had done so with the 
full intention of spending the entire afternoon with his be- 
trothed. He was, as has been said, although a clever, yet 
certainly at present a briefless young barrister. Neverthe- 
less, had twenty briefs awaited his immediate attention, he 
could not have more rapidly hurried back as he now did. 
When he entered his rooms he locked the outer door. Then 
he threw himself on a chair, drew the chair to his writing- 
ing table, pushed his hands through his thick hair, and star- 
ing hard at a blank sheet of paper which lay before him be- 
gan to think out a problem. His might scarcely have been 
called a passionate nature, but it was one capable of a very 
deep, very real attachment. This attachment had been 
formed for Charlotte Harmon. Their engagement had al- 
ready lasted nearly a year, and now with her own lips she 
had told him that it might end, that the end, the one happy 
end to all engagements, was in sight. With comfort, nay, 
with affluence, with the full consent all her friends, they 
might become man and wife. John Hinton most undoubted- 
ly loved this woman, and yet now as he reviewed the whole 
position the one pleasure he could deduct for his own reflec- 
tion was in the fact that there was four months’ reprieve. 
Charlotte had herself postponed their wedding-day for four 
months. 

Hinton was a proud man. When, a year ago, he had 
gone to Mr. Harman and asked him for his daughter, Mr. 
Harman had responded with the very natural question, 
“ What means have you to support her with ? ” 

Hinton had answered that he had two hundred a year — 
and — his profession. 

“ What are you making in your profession ? ” asked the 
father. 

“Not anything — yet,” answered the young man. 


5 ^ 


TTOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


“ There was a tone of defiance and withal of hope thrown 
into that “ yet ” which might have repelled some men, but 
pleased Mr. Harman. He paused to consider. He might 
have got a much, much better match for Charlotte from a 
temporal standpoint. Hinton was of no family in particular ; 
he had no money worthy of the name. He was simply an 
honest fellow, fairly good-looking, and with the heart of a 
gentleman. 

“You are doubtless aware,” replied Mr. Harman, “that 
my daughter will inherit a very large fortune. She has been’ 
sought for in marriage before now, and by men who could 
give something to meet what she brings, both with regard to 
money and position.” 

“ I have heard of Mr. S\s proposal,” answered Hinton. 

“ I know he is rich, and the son of Lord ; but that is 

nothing, for she does not love him.” 

“ And you believe she loves you ? ” 

“ Most certainly she loves me.” 

In spite of himself Mr. Harman smiled, then after a little 
more thought, for he was much taken with Hinton, he came 
to terms. 

He must not have Charlotte while he had nothing to sup- 
port her with. Pooh ! that two hundred a year was nothing, 
to a girl brought up like his daughter. For Hinton’s own 
sake it would not be good for him to live on his wife’s money ; 
but when he obtained his first brief then they might marry. 

Hinton was profuse in thanks. He only made on his ; 
part one stipulation — that brief, which was to obtain for him 
his bride, was in no way to come to him through Mr. Har- 
man’s influence. He must win it by his own individual ex- 
ertion. 

Mr Harman smiled and grew a trifle red. In his busi- 
ness capacity he could have put twenty briefs in this young 
fellow’s way, and in his inmost heart he had resolved to do- 
so ; but he liked him all the better for this one proviso, and 
promised readily enough. 

Hinton had no business connections of his own. He had 
no influential personal friends, and his future father-in-law 
felt bound in honor to leave him altogether to his own re- 
sources. A year had nearly passed since the engagement, 
and the brief which was to win him Charlotte was as far 
away as ever. But now she told him that this one embargo 
to their happiness had been withdrawn. They might marry, 
and the brief would follow after. Hinton knew well what it 


TTO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


57 

rail meant. The rich city merchant could then put work in 
.his way. Work would quickly pour in to the man so closely 
^connected with rich John Harman. Yes. As he sat by his 
table in his small shabbily furnished room, he knew that his 
fortune was made. He would obtain Charlotte and Charlotte’s 
wealth ; and if he but chose to use his golden opportunities, 
fame too might be his portion. He was a keen and ardent poli- 
tician, and a seat in the House might easily follow all the other 
good things which seemed following in his track. Yes; but 
he was a proud man, and he did not like it. He had not the 
heart to tell Charlotte to-day, as she looked at him with 
all the love she had so freely given shining in her sweet 
and tender face, that he would not accept such terms, that 
the original bargain must yet abide in force. He could not 
say to this young woman when she came to him, “ I do not 
want you.” But none the less, as he now sat by his writing- 
table, was he resolved that unless his brief was won before 
the twentieth of June it should bring no wedding-day to him. 
This was why he rejoiced in the four months’ reprieve. But 
this was by no means his only perplexity. Had it been, so 
stung to renewed action was his sense of pride and indepen- 
dence, that he would have gone at once to seek, perhaps to 
obtain work ; but something else was lying like wormwood 
against his heart. That story of Mrs. Home’s ! That ex- 
planation of Jasper Harman’s ! The story was a queer one ; 
the explanation, while satisfying the inexperienced girl, failed 
to meet the requirements of the acute lawyer. Hinton saw 
flaws in Jasper’s narrative, where Charlotte saw none. The 
•one great talent of his life, if it could be called a talent, was 
coming fiercely into play as he sat now and thought about it 
all. He had pre-eminently the gift of discovering secrets. 
He was rooting up many things from the deep grave of the 
hidden past now. That look of care on Mr. Harman’s face, 
how often it had puzzled him ! He had never liked Jasper ; 
indefinite had been his* antipathy hitherto, but it was taking 
definite form now. There was a secret in the past of that 
most respectable firm; and he, John Hinton, would give him- 
self no rest until he had laid it bare. No wedding-day could 
come to him and Charlotte until his mind was at rest on this 
point. It was against his interest to ferret out this hidden 
thing, but that fact weighed as nothing with him. It would 
bring pain to the woman he loved ; it might ruin her father ; 
but the pain and the ruip would he inflicted unsparingly by 


I/O W 17' ALL CAM ROUND. 

his righteous young hand, which knew nothing yet of mercy 
but was all for justice, and justice untempered with mercy is 
a terrible weapon. This Hinton was yet to learn. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

LODGINGS IN KENTISH TOWN. 

. , | ■ ( . . , i . ; , • : _ ; ! ► 

After a time, restless from the complexity of his mus- 
ings, Hinton went out. He had promised to return to the 
Harmans for dinner, but their hour for dinner was eight 
o’clock, and it still wanted nearly three hours of that time. 
As Charlotte had done before that day, he found hinlself in 
the close neighborhood of Regent’s Park. He would have 
gone into the park, but that he knew that the hour of closing 
the gates at this early period of the year must be close at 
hand ; he walked, therefore, by the side of the park, rather 
aimlessly it is true, not greatly caring, provided he kept mov- 
ing, in what direction his footsteps took him. 

At last he found himself on the broad tram line which 
leads to the suburb of Kentish Town. It was by no means 
an interesting neighborhood. But Hinton, soon lost in his 
private and anxious musings, went on. At last he left the 
public thoroughfare and turned down a private road. There 
were no shops here, nor much traffic. He felt a sense of re- 
lief at leaving the roar and bustle behind him. This road 
on which he had now entered was flanked at each side by a 
small class of dwelling-houses, some shabby and dirty, some 
bright and neat ; all, however, were poor-looking. It was 
quite dusk by this time, and the gas had been already lit. 
This fact, perhaps, was the reason which drew Hinton’s 
much-preoccupied attention to a trivial circumstance. 

In one of these small houses a young woman, who had 
previously lit the gas, stepped to the window and proceeded 
to paste a card to the pane. There was a gas lamp also di- 
rectly underneath, and Hinton, raising his eyes, saw very dis- 
tinctly, not only the little act, but also the words on the card, 
They were the very common words 


“ Apartments to Let. 
Inquire within,” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


.'SO 


Hinton suddenly drew up short on the pavement. He 
did not live in his chambers, and it occurred to him that here 
he would be within a walk of Regent’s Park. In short, that 
these shabby-looking little lodgings might suit him for the 
next few uncertain months. As suddenly as he had stopped, 
and the thought had come to him, he ran up the steps and rang 
the bell. In a moment or two a little servant-maid opened 
the door. She was neither a clean nor a tidy-looking maid, 
and Hinton, fastidious on such matters, took in this fact at a 
glance. Nevertheless the desire to find for himself a habi- 
tation in this shabby little house did not leave him. 

“ I saw a card up in your window. You have rooms to 
let,” he said to the little maid. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed, please, sir,” answered the servant with 
a broad and delighted grin. “ ’Tis h’our drawingrooms, 
please, sir ; and ef you’ll please jest come inter the ’all I’ll 
run and tell missis.” 

Hinton did so; and in another moment the maid, return- 
ing, asked him to step this way. 

This way led him into a dingy little parlor, and face to 
face with a young woman who, pale, self-possessed, and lady- 
like, rose to meet him. Hinton felt the color rising to his 
face at sight of her. He also experienced a curious and sud- 
den constriction of his heart, and an overawed sense of some 
special Providence leading him here. For he had seen this 
young woman before. She was Charlotte Home. In his 
swift glance, however, he saw that she did not recognize 
him. His resolve was taken on the instant. However un- 
comfortable the rooms she had to offer, they should be his. 
His interest in this Mrs. Home became intensified to a de- 
gree that was painful. He knew that he was about to pursue 
a course which would be to his own detriment, but he felt it 
impossible now to turn aside. In a quiet voice, and utterly 
unconscious of this tumult in his breast, she asked him to be 
seated, and they began to discuss the accommodation she 
could offer. 

Her back and front drawing-rooms would be vacant in a 
week. Yes, certainly ; Mr. Hinton could see them. She 
rang the bell as she spoke, and the maid appearing, took 
Hinton up stairs. The rooms were even smaller and 
shabbier than he had believed possible. Nevertheless, when 
he came downstairs he found no fault with anything, and 
agreed to the terms asked, namely, one guinea a week. He 
noticed a tremor in the young, brave voice which asked for 


6o 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


this renumeration, and he longed to make the one guinea 
two, but this was impossible. Before he left he had taken 
Mrs. Home’s drawing-rooms for a month, and had arranged 
to come into possession of his new quarters that day week. 

Looking at his watch when he left the house, he found 
that time had gone faster than he had any idea of. He had 
now barely an hour to jump into a cab, go to his present 
most comfortable lodgings, change his morning dress, and 
reach the Harmans in time for eight o’clock dinner. Little 
more than these sixty minutes elapsed from the time he left 
the shabby house in Kentish Town before he found himself 
in the luxurious abode of wealth, and every refinement, in 
Prince’s Gate. He ran up to the drawing-room, to find Char- 
lotte waiting for him alone. 

“ Uncle Jasper will dine with us, John,” she said, “ but 
my father is not well.” 

“ Not well ! ” echoed Hinton. Her face only expressed 
slight concern, and his reflected it in a lesser degree. 

“ He is very tired,” she said, “ and he looks badly. But 
I hope there is not much the matter. He will see you after 
dinner. But he could not eat, so I have begged of him to lie 
down ; he will be all right after a little rest.” 

Hinton made no further remark, and Uncle Jasper then 
coming in, and dinner being announced, they all went down- 
stairs. 

Uncle Jasper and Charlotte were merry enough, but Hin- 
ton could not get over a sense of depression, which not even 
the presence of the woman he loved could disperse. He was 
not sorry when the message came for him to go to Mr. Har- 
man. Charlotte smiled as he rose. 

“ You will find me in the drawing-room whenever you like 
to come there,” she said to him. 

He left the room suppressing the sigh. Charlotte, how- 
ever, did not hear or notice it. Still, with that light of love 
and happiness crowning her bright face, she turned to the old 
Australian uncle. 

“ I will pour you out your next glass of port, and stay 
with you for a few moments, for I have something to tell 
you.” 

“ What is that, my dear ? ” asked the old man. 

“ Something you have had to do with, dear old uncle. M\r 
wedding-day is fixed.” 

Uncle Jasper chuckled. 

“ Ah ! my dear,” he said, “ there’s nothing like having the 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 6l 

day clear in one’s head. And when is it to be, my pretty 
lass ? ” 

“ The twentieth of June, Uncle Jasper. Just four months 
from to-day.” 

“ Four months off ! ” repeated Uncle Jasper. “Well, I 
don’t call that very close at hand. When I spoke to your 
father last night — for you know I did speak to him, Charlotte 
— he seemed quite inclined to put no obstacle in the way of 
your speedy marriage.” 

“ Nor did he, Uncle Jasper. You don’t understand. He 
said we might marry at once if we liked. It was I who said 
the twentieth of June.” 

“ You, child ! — and — and did Hinton, knowing your father 
had withdrawn all opposition, did Hinton allow you to put off 
his happiness for four whole months ? ” 

“It was my own choice,” said Charlotte. “ Four months 
do not seem to me too long to prepare.” 

“ They would seem a very long time to me if I were the 
man who was to marry you, my dear.” 

Charlotte looked grave at this. Her uncle seemed to 
impute blame to her lover. Being absolutely certain of his 
devotion, she scorned to defend it. She rose from the table. 

“You will find me in the drawing-room, Uncle Jasper.” 

“ One word, Charlotte, before you go,” said her uncle. 
“ No, child, I am not going to the drawing-room. You two 
lovers may have it to yourselves. But — but — you remember 
our talk of last night ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Charlotte, pausing, and coming back a 
little way into the room. “ Did you say anything to my 
father ? Will he help Mrs. Home ? ” 

“ I have no doubt he will, my dear. Your father and I 
will both do something. He is a very just man, is your 
father. He was a good deal upset by this reference to his 
early days, and to his quarrel with his own father. I believe, 
between you and me, that it was that which made him ill this 
evening. But, Charlotte, you leave Mrs. Home to us. I will 
mention her case again when your father is more fit to bear 
the subject. What I wanted to say now, my dear, is this, 
that I think it would best please the dear old man if — if you 
told nothing of this strange tale, not even to Hinton, my 
dear.” 

“ Why, Uncle Jasper ? ” 

“ Why, my dear child ? The reason seems to me obvious 
enough. It is a story of the past. It relates to an old and 


62 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


painful quarrel. It is all over years ago. And then you 
could not tell one side of the tale without the other. Mrs. 
Home, poor thing, not personally knowing your father as one 
of the best and noblest of men, imputes very grave blame to 
him. Don’t you think such a tale, so false, so wrong, had 
better be buried in oblivion ? ” 

“ Mrs. Home was most unjust in her ignorance/’ repeated 
Charlotte. “ But, uncle, you are too late in your warning, for I 
told John the whole story already to-day.” 

Not a muscle of Uncle Jasper’s face changed. 

“ Well, child, I should have said that to you last night. 
After all, it is natural. Hinton won’t let it go farther, and no 
harm is done.” 

“ Certainly, John does not speak of my most sacred things,” 
answered Charlotte proudly. 

“ No, no, of course he doesn’t. I am sorry you told him ; 
but as you say, he is one with yourself. No harm is done. 
No, thank you, my dear, no more wine now. I am going off 
to my club.” 


X 

CHAPTER XV. 
mr. harman’s confidence. 

All through dinner, Hinton had felt that strange sense 
of depression stealing upon him. He was a man capable of 
putting a very great restraint upon his feelings, and he so be- 
haved during the long and weary meal as to rouse no sus- 
picions, either in Charlotte’s breast or in the far sharper one 
of the Australian uncle. But, nevertheless, so distressing was 
the growing sense of coming calamity, that he felt the gay 
laugh of his betrothed almost distressing, and was truly re- 
lieved when he had to change it for the gravity of her father. 
As he went from the dining-room to Mr. Harman’s study, he 
reflected with pleasure that his future father-in-law was 
always grave, that never in all the months of their rather fre- 
quent intercourse had he seen him even once indulge in what 
could be called real gayetyof heart. Though this fact rather 
coupled with his own suspicions, still he felt a momen- 


I/O tv IT ALL CAME ROUND. 63 

tary relief in having to deal to-night with one who treated life 
from its sombre standpoint. 

He entered the comfortable study. Mr. Harman was 
sunk down in an armchair, a cup of untasted coffee stood by 
his side ; the moment he heard Hinton’s step, however, he 
rose and going forward, took the young man’s hand and 
wrung it warmly. 

The room was lit by candles, but there were plenty of 
them, and Hinton almost started when he perceived how ill 
the old man looked. 

“ Charlotte has told you what I want you for to-night, eh, 
Hinton ? ” said Mr. Harman. 

“Yes; Charlotte has told me,” answered John Hinton. 
Then he sat down opposite his future father-in-law, who had 
resumed his armchair by the fire. Standing up, Mr. Har- 
man looked ill, but sunk into his chair, with his bent, white 
head, and drawn, anxious face, and hands worn to emaciation, 
he looked twenty times worse. There seemed nearly a life- 
time between him and that blithe-looking Jasper, whom Hin- 
ton had left with Charlotte in the dining-room. Mr. Harman, 
sitting by his fire, with firelight and candlelight shining full 
upon him, looked a very old man indeed. 

“ I am sorry to see you so unwell, sir. You certainly 
don’t look at all the thing,” began Hinton. 

“ I am not well — not at all well. I don’t want Charlotte 
to know. But there need be no disguises between you and 
me ; of course I show it ; but we will come to that presently. 
First, about your own affairs. Lottie has told you what I 
want you for to-night ? ” 

“ She has, Mr. Harman. She says that you have been 
good and generous enough to say you will take away the one 
slight embargo you made to our marriage — that we may be- 
come man and wife before I bring you news of that brief.” 

“ Yes, Hinton ; that is what I said to her this morning : I 
repeat the same to you to-night. You may fix your wedding- 
day when you like — I dare say you have fixed it.” 

“Charlotte has named the twentieth of next June, sir; 
but ” 

“ The twentieth of June ! that is four months away. I 
did not want her to put it off as far as that. However, 
women, even the most sensible, have such an idea of the 
time it takes to get a trousseau. The twentieth of June I 
You can make it sooner, can’t you ? ” 

“ Four months is not such a long time, sir. We have a 


04 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


house to get, and furniture to buy. Four months will be 
necessary to make these arrangements.” 

“ No, they won’t; for you have no such arrangements to 
make. You are to come and live here when you marry. 
This will be your house when you marry, and I shall be your 
guest. I can give you Charlotte Hinton ; but I cannot do 
without her myself.” 

“ But this house means a very, very large income, Mr. 
Hannan. Is it prudent that we should begin like this ? 
For my part I should much rather do on less.” 

“ You may sell the house if you fancy, and take a smaller 
one ; or go more into the country. I only make one proviso 
— that while I live, I live with my only daughter.” 

“ And with your son, too, Mr. Harman,” said Hinton, 
just letting his hand touch for an instant the wrinkled hand 
which lay on Mr. Harman’s knee. 

The old nian smiled one of those queer, sad smiles which 
Hinton had often in vain tried to fathom. Responding to 
the touch of the vigorous young hand, he said — 

“ I have always liked you, Hinton. I believe, in giving 
you my dear child, I give her to one who will make her happy.” 

“ Happy ! yes, I shall certainly try to make her happy,” 
answered Hinton, with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“And that is the main thing; better than wealth, or 
position, or anything else on God’s earth. Happiness comes 
with goodness, you know, my dear fellow ; no bad man was 
ever happy. If you and Charlotte get this precious thing 
into your lives you must both be good. Don’t let the evil 
touch you ever so slightly. If you do, happiness flies.” 

“ I quite believe you,” answered Hinton. 

“ Well, about money matters. I am, as you know, very 
rich. I shall settle plenty of means upon my daughter ; but 
it will be better for you to enter into all these matters with 
my solicitor. When can you meet him ? ” 

** Whenever convenient to you and to him, sir.” 

I will arrange it for you, and let you know.” 

“ Mr. Harman, may I say a word for myself ?” suddenly 
asked the young man. 

“ Most certainly. Have I been so garrulous as to keep 
you from speaking ? ” 

“ Not at all, sir ; you have been more than generous. You 
have been showing me the rose-color from your point of view. 
Now it is not all rose-color,” 


HOW JT ALL CAME ROUND. 65 

“ I was coming to that ; it is by no means all rose^color. 
Well, say your say first.” 

“ You are a very rich man, and you are giving me your 
daughter ; so endowing her, that any man in the world would 
say I had drawn a prize in money, if in nothing else.” 

Mr. Harman smiled. 

“ I fear you must bear that,” he said. “ I do not see 
that you can support Charlotte without some assistence from 
me.” 

“ I certainly could not do so. I have exactly two hundred 
a year, and that, as you were pleased to observed before, 
would be, to one brought up as Charlotte has been, little 
short of beggary.” 

“ To Charlotte it certainly would be almost beggary.” 

“ Mr. Harman, I have some pride in me. I am a bar- 
rister by profession. Some barristers get high in their pro- 
fession.” 

“ Undoubtedly some do.” 

“ Those who are brilliant do,” continued Hinton. “ I 
have abilities, whether they are brilliant or not, time will 
show. Mr. Harman, I should like to bring you news of that 
brief before we are married.” 

“ I can throw you in the way of getting plenty of briefs 
when you are my scn-in-law. I promise you, you will no 
longer be a barrister with nothing to do.” 

“ Yes, sir ; but I want this before my marriage.” 

“ My influence can give it to you before.” 

“ But that was against our agreement, Mr. Harman. I 
want to find that brief which is to do so much for me without 
your help.” 

“Very well. Find it before the twentieth of June.” 

After this the two men were silent for several moments. 
John Hinton, though in no measure comforted, felt it im- 
possible to say more just then, and Mr. Harman, with a face 
full of care, kept gazing into the fire. John Hinton might 
have watched that face with interest, had he not been other- 
wise occupied. After this short silence Mr. Harman spoke 
again. 

“ You think me very unselfish in all this ; perhaps even 
my conduct surprises you.” 

“I confess it rather does,” answered Hinton. 

“ Will you oblige me by saying how ? ” 

« For one thing, you give so much and expect so little.” 

* Ay, so it appears at first sight ; but J told you it was 


66 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


not all rose-color ; I am coming to that part. Your pride 
has been roused — I can soothe it.” 

“ I love Charlotte too much to feel any pride in the 
matter,” replied Hinton, with some heat. 

“ I don’t doubt your affection, my good fellow ; and I put 
against it an equal amount on Charlotte’s part ; also a noble 
and beautiful woman, and plenty of money, with money’s 
attendant mercies. I fear even your affection is outweighed 
in that balance.” 

“ Nothing can outweigh affection,” replied Hinton 
boldly. 

Mr. Harman smiled, and this time stretching out his 
own hand he touched the young man’s. 

“ You are right, my dear boy ; and because I am so well 
aware of this, I give my one girl to a man who is a gentle- 
man, and who loves her. I ask for nothing else in Char- 
lotte’s husband, but I am anxious for you to be her husband 
at once.” 

“ And that is what puzzles me,” said Hinton : “you have 
a sudden reason for this hurry. We are both young ; we 
can wait ; there is no hardship in waiting.” 

“ There would be a hardship to me in your waiting longer 
now. You are quite right in saying I have a sudden reason ; 
this time last night I had no special thought of hurrying on 
Charlotte’s marriage. Her uncle proposed it ; I considered 
his reasoning good — so good, that I gave Charlotte permis- 
sion this morning to fix with you the time for the wedding. 
But even then delay would have troubled me but little ; now 
it does ; now even these four short months trouble me 
sorely.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Hinton. 

“ Why ? You mentioned my health, and observed that I 
looked ill ; I said I would come to that presently. I am ill ; 
I look very ill. I have seen physicians. To-day I went to 
see Sir George Anderson ; he told me, without any preamble, 
the truth. My dear fellow, I want you to be my child’s pro- 
tector in a time of trouble, for I am a dying man.” 

Hinton had never come face to face with death in his life 
before. He started forward now and clasped his hands. 

“ Dying ! ” he repeated, in a tone of unbelief and con- 
sternation. 

“ Yes ; you don’t see it, for I am going about. I shall go 
about much as usual to the very last. Your idea of dying 
men is that they stay in bed and get weak, and have a living 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


6 7 

death long before the last great mercy comes. That will 
not be my case. I shall be as you see me now to the very 
last moment ; then some day, or perhaps some night, you 
will come into this room, or into another room, it does not a 
bit matter where, and find me dead.” 

“ And must this come soon ? ” repeated Hinton. 

“ It may not come for some months ; it may stay away 
for a year ; but again it may come to-night or to-morrow.” 

“ Good God ! ” repeated Hinton. 

“Yes, Mr. Hinton, you are right, in the contemplation 
of such a solemn and terrible event, to mention the name of 
your Creator. He is a good God, but His very goodness 
makes Him terrible. He is a God who will see justice done ; 
who will by no means cleanse the guilty. I am going into 
His presence — a sinful old man. Well, I bow to His de- 
cree. But enough of this ; you see my reasons for wishing 
for an early marriage for my child.” 

“ Mr. Harman, I am deeply, deeply pained and shocked. 
May I know the nature of your malady ? ” 

“ It is unnecessary to discuss it, and does no good ; suffice 
it to know that I carry a disease within me which by its 
very nature must end both soon and suddenly ; also that 
there is no cure for the disease.” 

“ Are you telling me all this as a secret ? ” 

“ As a most solemn and sacred secret. My brother suspects 
something of it, but no one, no one in all the world knows 
the full and solemn truth but yourself.” 

“ Then Charlotte is not to be told ? ” 

“ Charlotte ! Charlotte ! It is for her sake I have con- 
fided to you all this, that you may guard her from such a 
knowledge.” 

“ John Hinton was silent for a moment or two ; if he 
disliked Charlotte having a secret from him much more did 
he protest against the knowledge which now was forced upon 
him being kept from her. He saw that Mr. Harman was 
firmly set on keeping his child in the dark ; he disapproved, 
but he hardly dared, so much did he fear to agitate the old 
man, to make any vigorous stand against a decree which 
seemed to him both cruel and unjust. He must say some- 
thing, however, so he began gently — 

“ I will respect your most sacred confidence, Mr. Har- 
man ; without your leave no word from me shall convey this 
knowledge to Charlotte ; but pardon me if I say a word. 
You know your own child very well, but I also know Char. 


65 


HOVT IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


lotte ; she has lived, for all her talent and her five and twenty 
years, the sheltered life of a child hitherto — but that is noth- 
ing ; she is a noble woman, she has a noble woman’s heart ; 
in trouble, such 'a nature as hers could rise and prove itself 
great. Don’t you suppose, when by and by the end really 
comes, she will blame me, and even perhaps, you, sir, for 
keeping this knowledge from her.” 

“ She will never blame her old father. She will see, bless 
her, that I did it in love ; you will tell her that, be sure 
you tell her that, when the time comes ; please God, you will 
be her husband then, and you will have the right to comfort 
her.” 

“ I hope to have the right to comfort her, I hope to be 
her husband ; still, I think you are mistaken, though I can 
urge the matter no further.” 

“ No, for you cannot see it with my eyes ; that child 
and I have lived the most unbroken life of peace and hap- 
piness together ; neither storm nor cloud has visited us in 
one another. The shadow of death must not embitter our 
last few months ; she must be my bright girl to the very last. 
Some day, if you and she ever have a daughter, you will 
understand my feelings — at least in part you will understand 
it.” 

“ I cannot understand it now, but I can at least respect 
it,” answered the young man. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ VENGEANCE IS MINE.” 

When Hinton at last left him, Mr. Harman sat on for a 
long time by his study fire. The fire burnt low but he did 
not replenish it, neither did he touch the cold coffee which 
still remained on his table. After an hour or so of musings, 
during which the old face seemed each moment to grow more 
sad and careworn, he stretched out his hand to ring his bell. 

Almost instantly was the summons answered — a tall foot- 
man stood before him. 

“ Dennis, has Mr. Jasper left ? ” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 69 

“Yes, sir. He said he was going to his club. I can 
have him fetched, sir.” 

“ Do not do so. After Mr. Hinton leaves, ask Miss Har 
man to come here.” 

The footman answered softly in the affirmative and with- 
drew, and Mr. Harman still sat on alone. He had enough 
to think about. For the first time to-day death had come 
and stared him in the face ; very close indeed his own death 
was looking at him. He was a brave man, but the sight of 
the cold, grim thing, brought so close, so inevitably near, was 
scarcely to be endured with equanimity. After a time, rising 
from his seat, he went to a bookcase and took down, not a 
treatise on medicine or philosophy, but an old Bible. 

“ Dying men are said to find comfort here,” he said faintly 
to himself. He put one of the candles on the table and 
opened the book. It was an old Bible, but John Harman 
was not very well acquainted with its contents. 

“They tell me there is much comfort here,” he said to 
himself. He turned the old and yellow leaves. 

“ Vengeance is mine. I will repay?' These were the words 
on which his eyes fell. 

Comfort ! He closed the book with a groan and returned 
it to the bookshelf. But in returning it he chose the highest 
shelf of all and pushed it far back and well out of sight. 

He had scarcely done so before a light quick step was 
heard at the door, and Charlotte, her eyes and cheeks both 
bright, entered. 

“ My dearest, my darling,” he said. He came to meet 
her, and folded her in his arms. He was a dying man, and 
a sin-laden one, but not the less sweet was that young em- 
brace, that smooth cheek, those bright, happy eyes. 

“ You are better, father ; you look better,” said his 
daughter. 

“ I have been rather weak and low all the evening, Lottie ; 
but I am much better for seeing you. Come here and sit at 
my feet, my dear love.” 

“ I am very happy this evening,” said Charlotte, seating 
herself on her father’s footstool, and laying her hand on his 
knee. 

“ I can guess the reason, my child ; your wedding-day is 
fixed.” 

“This morning, father, I said it should be the twentieth 
of June ; John seemed quite satisfied, and four months were 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


70 

not a bit too long for our preparations ; but to-night he has 
changed his mind ; he wants our wedding to be in April. I 
have not given in— not yet. Two months seem so short.” 

“You will have plenty of time to prepare in two months, 
dear ; and April is a nice time of year. If I were you, I 
would not oppose Hinton.” 

Charlotte smiled. She knew in her heart of hearts she 
should not oppose him. But being a true woman, she laid 
hold of a futile excuse. 

“ My book will not be finished. I like to do well what I 
do at all.” 

Her father was very proud of this coming book ; but now, 
patting her hand, he said softly, — 

“ The book can keep. Put it out of your head for the 
present ; you can get it done later.” 

“ Then I shall leave you two months sooner, father ; does 
that not weigh with you at all ? ” 

“ You are only going for your honeymoon, darling ; and 
the sooner you go the sooner you will return.” 

“ Vanquished on all points,” said Charlotte, smiling radi- 
antly, and then she sat still, looking into the fire. 

Long, long afterwards, through much of sorrow — nay, 
even of tribulation — did her thoughts wander back to that 
golden evening of her life. 

“ You remind me of my own mother to-night,” said her 
father presently. 

Charlotte and her father had many times spoken of this 
dead mother. Now she said softly, — 

“ I want, I pray, I long to make as good a wife as you 
tell me she did.” 

“ With praying, longing, and striving, it will come Char- 
lotte. That was how she succeeded.” 

“ And there is another thing,” continued Charlotte, sud- 
denly changing her position and raising her bright eyes to 
her old father’s face. “You had a good wife and I had a 
good mother. If ever I die, as my own mother died, and 
leave behind me a little child, as she did, I pray that my 
John may be as good a father to it as you have been to me.” 

But in answer to this little burst of daughterly love, a 
strange thing happened. Mr. Harman grew very white, so 
white that he gasped for breath. 

“ Water, a little water,” he said, feebly ; and when Char- 
lotte had brought it to him and he raised it to his lips, and 


// OIV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


7 * 

the color and power to breathe had come back again, he 
said slowly and with great pain, — 

“ Never, never pray that your husband may be like me, 
Charlotte. To be worthy of you at all, he must be a much 
better and a very different man." 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HAPPINESS NOT JUSTICE. 

Hinton left Mr. Harman’s house in a very perplexed 
frame of mind. It seemed to him that in that one short day 
as much had happened to him as in all the course of his pre- 
vious life, but the very force of the thoughts, the emotions, 
the hopes, the fears, which had visited him, made him, strong, 
young and vigorous as he was, so utterly weary, that when he 
reached his rooms he felt that he must let tired-out nature 
have its way — he threw himself on his bed and slept the 
sleep of the young and healthy until the morning. 

It was February weather, February unusually mild and 
genial, and the pet day of yesterday was followed by another 
as soft and sweet and mild. When Hinton awoke from his 
refreshing slumbers, the day was so well and thoroughly 
risen that a gleam of sunshine lay across his bed. He started 
up to discover a corresponding glow in his heart. What was 
causing this glow ? In a moment he remembered, and the 
gleam of heart sunshine grew brighter with the knowledge. 
The fact was, happiness was standing by the young man’s 
side, holding out two radiant hands, and saying, “ Take me, 
take me to your heart of hearts, for I have come to dwell with 
you.” Hinton rose, dressed hastily, and went into his sitting- 
room. All the gloom which had so oppressed him yesterday 
had vanished. He could not resist the outward sunshine, 
nor the heart-glow which had come to him. He stepped 
lightly, and whistled some gay airs. He ate his breakfast 
with appetite, then threw himself into an easy-chair which 
stood near the window ; he need not go to his chambers for 
at least an hour, he might give himself this time to think. 

Again happiness stepped up close and showed her beau- 
tiful face. Should he take her ; should he receive the rkre 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


72 

and lovely thing and shut out that stern sense of justice, of 
relieving the oppressed, of seeing the wronged righted, which 
had been as his sheet-anchor yesterday, which had been more 
or less the sheet-anchor of his life ( Here was his position. 
He was engaged to marry Charlotte Harman ; he loved her 
with his whole heart ; she loved him with her whole heart ; 
she was a beautiful woman, a noble woman, a wealthy woman. 
With her as his wife, love, riches, power might all be his. 
What more could the warm, warm feelings of youth desire ? 
what more could the ambitions of youth aspire to? Yester- 
day, it is true, he had felt some rising of that noble pride 
which scorns to receive so much and give so little. He had 
formed a wild, almost passionate determination to obtain his 
brief before he obtained his bride, but Mr. Harman had 
soothed that pride to sleep. There was indeed a grave and 
sad reason why this beautiful and innocent woman whom he 
had won should receive all the full comfort his love and pro- 
tection could give her as quickly as possible. Her father 
was dying, and she must not know of his approaching death. 
Her father wished to see her Hinton’s wife as soon as pos- 
sible. Hinton felt that this was reasonable, this was fair; 
for the sake of no pride, true or false, no hoped-for brief, 
could he any longer put off their wedding. Nay, far from 
this. Last night he had urged its being completed two 
months sooner than Charlotte herself had proposed. He saw 
by the brightness in Charlotte’s eyes that, though she did not 
at once agree to this, her love for him was such that she 
would marry him in a week if he so willed it. He rejoiced 
in these symptoms of her great love, and the rejoicings of 
last night had risen ?n a fuller tide this morning. Yes, it 
was the rule of life, the one everlasting law, the old must 
suffer and die, the young must live and rejoice. Yes ; Hinton 
felt very deep sympathy for Mr. Harman last night, but this 
morning, his happiness making him more self-absorbed than 
really selfish, he knew that the old man’s dying and suffering 
state could not take one iota from his present delight. 

What then perplexed him ? What made him stand aloof 
from the radiant guest, Happiness, for a brief half hour ? 
That story of Charlotte’s ; it would come back to him ; he 
wished now he had never heard it. For having heard he 
could not forget : he could not exorcise this grim Thing 
which stood side by side with Happiness in his sunny room 
lie fact was, his acute mind took in the true bearings of 
the case far more clearly than Charlotte had done. He fejt 


tfOVT IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


73 


•lire that Mrs. Home had been wronged. He felt equally 
sure that, if he looked into the case, it lay in his power to 
right her. Over and over he saw her pale, sad face, and he 
hoped it was not going to haunt him. The tale in his mind 
lay all in Mrs. Home’s favor, all against John and Jasper 
Harman. Was it likely that their wealthy father would do 
anything so monstrously unjust as to leave all his money 
to his two eldest sons with whom he had previously quar- 
relled, and nothing, nothing at all to his young wife and in- 
fant daughter ? It would be a meaningless piece of in- 
justice, unlike all that he had gleaned of the previous char- 
acter of the old man. As to John and Jasper, and their con- 
duct in the affair, that too was difficult to fathom. J asper had 
spent the greater portion of his life in Australia. Of his 
character Hinton knew little ; that little he felt was repug- 
nant to him. But John Harman-^no man in the City bore a 
higher character for uprightness, for integrity, for honor. 
John Harman was respected and loved by all who knew him. 

Yes, yes : Hinton felt that all this Was possible, but also 
he knew that never in their close intercourse had he been 
able to fathom John Harman. A shadow rested over the 
wealthy and prosperous merchant. Never until now had Hin- 
ton even approached the cause ; but now, now it seemed to 
him that he was grappling with the impenetrable mystery, 
that face to face he was looking at the long and success- 
fully hidden sin. Strong man as he was, he trembled as this 
fear came over him. Whatever the cause, whatever the 
sudden and swift temptation, he felt an evergrowing convic- 
tion that long ago John and Jasper Harman had robbed 
the widow and fatherless. Feeling this, being almost sure 
of this, how then should he act ? He knew very well what 
he could do. He could go to Somerset House and see the 
will of old Mr. Harman. It was very unlikely that a forged 
will had been attempted. It was, he felt sure, far far more 
probable that the real will was left untampered with, that 
the deed of injustice had been done in the hope that no one 
who knew anything about such matters would ever inquire 
into it. 

Hinton could go that very day and set his mind at rest. 
Why then did he hesitate ? Ah ! he knew but too well. 
Never and nearer came that shining form of Happiness. If 
he did this thing, and found his suspicions correct, as he 
feared much he should, if he then acted upon this knowl- 
edge and gave Mrs. Home her own again, happiness would 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 


74 

fly from him, it might be for ever. To give Mrs. Home her 
rights he must cruelly expose a dying old man. Such a 
shock, coming now, would most probably kill John Harman. 
After bringing her father to such shame and dishonor, would 
Charlotte ever consent to be his wife ? would she not indeed in 
very horror fly from his presence ? What was Mrs. Home to 
him, that he should ruin his whole life for her sake, that he 
should give up wife, wealth, and fame ? Nothing — a com- 
plete stranger. Why should he, for her sake, pain and make 
miserable those he loved, above all break the heart of the 
woman who was more precious to him than all the rest of the 
world ? He felt he could not do this thing. He must take 
that bright winged happiness and let justice have her day 
when she could. Some other hand must inflict the blow, it 
could not be his hand. He was sorry now that he had taken 
Mrs. Home’s lodgings. But after all what did it signify ? He 
had taken them for a month, he could go there for that short 
period. His quickly approaching marriage would make it 
necessary for him to leave very soon after, and he would try 
amongst his many friends to find her a more permanent ten- 
ant, for though he had now quite made up his mind to let 
matters alone, his heart ached for this woman. Yes, he 
would, if possible, help her in little ways, though it would be 
impossible for his hand to be the one to give her her own 
again. Having come to this determination he went out. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT’S NICE.” 

Perhaps for one day Charlotte Harman was selfish in 
her happiness. But when she awoke on the morning after 
her interview with her father, her finely balanced nature had 
quite recovered its equilibrium. She was a woman whom 
circumstances could make very noble ; all her leanings were 
towards the good, she had hitherto been unassailed by tempta- 
tion, untouched by care. All her life the beautiful and bright 
things of this world had been showered at her feet. She had 
the friends whom rich, amiable, and handsome girls usually 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


75 


make. She had the devotion of a most loving father. John 
Hinton met her and loved her. She responded to his love 
with her full heart. Another father might have objected to 
her giving herself to this man, who in the fashionable world’s 
opinion was nothing. But Harman only insisted on a slight 
delay to their marriage, none whatever to their engagement, 
and now, after scarcely a year of waiting, the embargo was 
withdrawn, their wedding-day was fixed, was close at hand. 
The twentieth of April (Charlotte knew she should not oppose 
the twentieth of April) was not quite two months away. Very 
light was her heart when she awoke to this happy fact. 
Happiness, too, was standing by her bedside, and she made 
no scruple to press the radiant creature to her heart of hearts. 
But Charlotte’s was too fine a nature to be spoiled by prosperity 
Independent of her wealth, she must always have been a 
favorite. Her heart was frank and generous; she was 
thoughtful for others, she was most truly unselfish. Char- 
lotte was a favorite with the servants ; her maid worshipped 
her. She was a just creature, and had read too much on 
social reform to give away indiscriminately and without 
thought ; but where her sense of justice was really satisfied, 
she could give with a royal hand, and there were many poor 
whom Ward, her maid, knew, who, rising up, called Miss 
Harmon blessed. 

Charlotte had taken a great interest in Mrs. Home. Her 
face attracted, her manner won, before ever her story touched 
the heart of this young woman. The greatest pain Charlotte 
had ever gone through in her life had followed the recital of 
Mrs. Home’s tale, a terrible foreboding the awful shadow 
which points to wrong done, to sin committed by her best 
and dearest, had come near and touched her. Uncle Jasper, 
with his clever and experienced hand, had driven that shadow 
away, and in her first feeling of intense thankfulness and re- 
lief, she had almost disliked the woman who had come to her 
with so cruel a tale. All yesterday, in the midst of her own 
hapiness, she had endeavored to shut Mrs. Home from her 
thoughts; but this morning, more calm herself, the re- 
membrance of the poor, pale, and struggling mother rose up 
again fresh and vivid within her heart. It is true Mrs. 
Home believed a lie, a cruel and dreadful lie ; but none the 
less for this was she to be pitied, none the less for this must 
she be helped. Mrs. Home was Charlotte’s near relation, 
phe could not suffer her to want As she lay in bed, she re- 
flected with great thankfulness that John Hinton had said, on 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


76 

hearing the tale, how manifestly it would be his and her duty 
to help this poor mother. Yes, by and by they would give 
her enough to raise her above all want, but Charlotte felt she 
could not wait for that distant time. She must succor Mrs. 
Home at once. Her father had said last night that, if she 
married in two months, there would be no time for her to 
finish her book. He was right ; she must give up the book ; 
she would devote this morning to Mrs. Home. 

She rose with her determination formed and went down- 
stairs. As usual her father was waiting for her, as usual he 
came up and kissed her ; and as they had done every morn- 
ing for so many years, they sat down opposite each other to 
breakfast. Charlotte longed to speak to her father about 
Mrs. Home, but he looked, even to her inexperienced, eyes 
very ill and haggard, and she remembered her uncle’s words 
and refrained from the subject. 

“ You seem so feeble, father, had you not better go into 
town in the carriage this morning ? ” she asked, as he rose 
from his chair. 

To her surprise he assented, even confessed that he had 
already ordered the carriage. He had never to her knowl- 
edge done such a thing before, and little as she knew of 
real illness, nothing as she knew of danger and death, she 
felt a sharp pain at her heart as she watched him driving 
away. The pain, however, was but momentary, lost in the 
pressing interests of other thoughts. Before eleven o’clock 
she had started off to see Mrs. Home. 

Now it was by no means her intention to go to this newly 
found relation empty handed. Mrs. Home might or might 
not be willingto receive a gift of money, but Charlotte hoped 
so to be able to convey it to her as to save her pride from 
being too greatly hurt. 

Charlotte had a small banking account of her own. She 
drove now straight to her bank in the city, and drawing 
fifty pounds in one note slipped it into her purse. From the 
bank she went to a children’s West End shop. She there 
chose a lovely velvet frock for the fair-haired little Daisy, 
two embroidered white dresses for the baby ; and going a 
little farther she bought a smart tailor suit for the eldest 
ooy. After buying the pretty clothes she visited a toy shop, 
where she loaded herself with toys ; then a cake shop to pur- 
chase cakes and other goodies ; and having at last exhausted 
her resources; she desired the coachman to drive to Mrs. 
Home’s address in Kentish Tows. She arrived, after a drive 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


77 


of a little over half an hour, to find the lady whom she had 
come to seek, out. The dirty little maid stared with full 
round eyes at the beautiful young lady and at the handsome 
carriage, and declared she did not know when her missis 
would be in. 

For a moment Charlotte felt foiled ; but she was excited 
now — she could no: go away, laden as she was with fairy 
gifts, without making some effort to dispense these blessings. 

“ I am a relation of Mrs. Home’s and I want to see the 
children. Are the children in ? ” she asked of the little 
maid. 

Rounder and rounder grew that small domestic’s eyes. 

“ They can’t be hout without me,” she volunteered ; 
“ ain’t I the nuss and maid-of-all work ? Yes, the children 
is hin.” 

Then she opened the dining-room door, and Charlotte, 
first flying to the carriage and returning laden with brown 
paper parcels, followed her into the little parlor. 

The maid, on the swift wings of excitement, flew upstairs. 
There was the quick patter of eager little feet, and. in a very 
few moments the door was pushed open and a boy and girl 
entered. Charlotte recognized them at a glance. They 
were the very handsome little pair whose acquaintance she 
had made yesterday in Regent’s Park. The girl hung back 
a trifle shyly, but the boy, just saying to his sister, “ The 
pretty lady,” came up, and raised his lips for a kiss. 

“ You don’t think me rude ? ” he said ; “ you don’t mind 
kissing me, do you.” 

“ I love to kiss you ; I am your own cousin,” said Char- 
lotte. 

“ My own cousin ! Then I may sit on your knee. Daisy, 
come here — the pretty lady is our own cousin.” 

On hearing this, Daisy too advanced. Neither child had 
any idea what the word cousin meant, but it seemed to in- 
clude proprietorship. They stroked Charlotte’s furs, and 
both pairs of lips were raised again and again for many 
kisses. In the midst of this scene entered the little maid 
with the baby. Pretty as Daisy and Harold were, they were 
nothing to the baby; this baby of eight months had a most 
ethereal and lovely face. 

“ Oh, you beauty ! you darling ! ” said Charlotte, as she 
clasped the little creature in her arms, and the baby, :•© 
yeung to be shy, allowed her to kiss him repeatedly. 


78 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


“ What a lot of lumber! ” said Daisy, touching the brown- 
paper parcels. 

This little child’s speech brought Charlotte back to the 
fact of her ckaes and toys. Giving baby to his small nurse, 
she opened her treasures. Daisy received her doll with a 
kind of awed rapture, Harold rattled his drum and blew his 
trumpet in a way most distracting to any weak nerves within 
reasonable distance, and the baby sucked some rather un- 
wholesome sweets. No child thought of thanking their bene- 
1 actor, but flushed cheeks, bright eyes, eager little voices, 
were thanks louder and more eloquent than words. 

“ I want to see your mother ; when will she be in ? ” 
asked Charlotte, after a little quiet had been restored. 

“ Not all day,” answered Harold. “ Mother has gone 
with father to nurse a poor sick lady ; she won’t be back till 
quite night.” 

“ She said we were to be very good ; we are, aren’t we ? ” 
said Daisy. 

“ Yes, darling; you are quite perfect,” replied the in- 
experienced Charlotte. 

“ Did our mother ask you to come and play with us and 
give us lovely things?” demanded Harold. 

She does not know I am here, my dear little boy ; but 
now, if you will show me where I can get a sheet of paper, I 
will just write your mother a little note.” 

The paper was quickly found, and Charlotte sat down, 
a boy and girl on each side. It was not easy to say much 
under such circumstances, so the words in the little note 
were few. 

“ You will give this to your mother when she comes in. 
See ! — I will put it on the mantelpiece,” she said to Harold ; 
“ and you must not touch these parcels until mother opens 
them herself. Yes; I will come again. Now, good-by.” Her 
bonnet was decidedly crooked as she stepped into the car- 
riage, her jacket was also much crumpled ; but there was 
a very sweet feel of little arms still round her neck, and she 
touched her hair and cheeks with satisfaction, for they had 
been honored by many child kisses. 

“ I believe she’s just a fairy godmother,” said Harold, 
as he watched the carriage rolling away. 

“ I never seed the like in hall my b'o m. days,” remarked 
the small mafdrof-all-w’drk. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


79 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ THE PRETTY LADY.” 

“ Mother, mother, mother ! ” 

“ And look ! — oh, do look at what I have got !” were the 
words that greeted Mrs. Home, when, very tired, after a day 
of hard nuresing with one of her husband’s sick parishioners, 
she came back. 

The children ought to have been in bed, the baby fast 
asleep, the little parlor-table tidily laid for tea : instead of 
which, the baby wailed unceasingly up in the distant nursery, 
and Harold and Daisy, having nearly finished Charlotte’s 
sweeties, and made themselves very uncomfortable by re- 
peated attacks on the rich plum-cake, were now, with very 
flushed cheeks, alternately playing with their toys and poking 
their small fingers into the still unopened brown-paper par- 
oles. They had positively refused to go up to the nursery, 
and, though the gas was lit and the blinds were pulled down, 
the spirit of disorder had most manifestly got into the little 
parlor. 

“ Oh, mother ! — what do you think ? The lovely lady ! — 
the lady we met in the park yesterday ! — she has been, and 
she brought us lots of things — toys, and sweeties, and cakes, 
and — oh, mother, do look !” 

Daisy presented her doll, and Harold blew some very shrill 
blasts from his trumpet right up into his mother’s eyes. 

“ My dear children,” said Mrs. Home, “ whom do you 
mean ? where did you get all these things? who has come here? 
Why aren’t you both in bed ? It is long past your usual 
hour.” 

This string of questions met with an unintelligible chorus 
of replies, in which the words “ pretty lady,” “ Regent’s 
Park,” “ father knew her,” “ we had to sit up,” so completely 
puzzled Mrs. Home, that had not her eyes suddenly rested 
on the little note waiting for her on the mantelpiece she would 
have been afraid her children had taken leave of their 
senses. 

“ Oh, yes ; she told us to give you that,” said Harold 
when he saw his mother take it up. 


8o 


HOVT IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


I have said the note was very short. Charlotte Home 
read it in a moment. 

“ Mother, mother ! what does she tell you, and what are 
in the other parcels? She said we weren’t to open them 
until you came home. Oh, do tell us what she said, and let 
us see the rest of the pretty things ! ” 

“ Do, do mother ; we have been so patient ’bout it ! ” re- 
peated little Daisy. 4 , 

Harold now ran for the largest of the parcels, and raised 
it for his mother to take. Both children clung to her skirts. 
Mrs. Home put the large parcel on a shelf out of reach, then 
she put aside the hot and eager little hands. At last she 
spoke. 

“ My little children must have some more patience, for 
mother can tell them nothing more to-night. Yes, yes, the 
lady is very pretty and very kind, but we can talk no more 
about anything until the morning. Now, Harold and Daisy, 
come upstairs at once.” 

They were an obedient, well-trained little pair. They 
just looked at one another, and from each dimpled' mouth 
came a short, impatient sigh ; then they gave their hands to 
mother, and went gravely up to the nursery. Charlotte 
stayed with her children until they were undressed. She 
saw them comfortably washed, their baby prayers said, and 
each little head at rest on its pillow, then kissing the baby, 
who was also by this time fast asleep, she went softly down- 
stairs. 

Anne, the little maid, was flying about, trying to get the 
tea ready and some order restored, but when she saw her 
mistress she could not refrain from standing still to pour out 
her excited tale. 

“ Ef you please, ’em, it come on me hall on a ’eap. She 
come in that free and that bounteous, and seemed as if she 
could eat all the children up wid love ; and she give ’em a 
lot, and left a lot more fur you, ’em. And when she wor 
goin’ away she put half-a-crown in my hand. I never seed 
the like — never, ’em — never ! She wor dressed as grand as 
Queen Victory herself, and she come in a carriage and two 
spanking hosseses ; and, please, ’em, 1 heard of her telling 
the children as she wos own cousin to you, ’em.” 

“Yes, I know the young lady,” replied Mrs. Horae. 
“ She is, as you say, very nice and kind. But now, Anne, 
we must not talk any more. Your master won’t be in for an 
hour, but I shan’t wait tea for him ; we will have some fresh 


no IV IT ALL CA ME ROuND g I 

made later. Please bring me in a cup at once, for I am 
very tired.” 

Anne gazed at her mistress in open-eyed astonishment. 
Any ono — any one as poor as she well knew missis to be— 
who could take the fact of being cousin to so beautiful 
and rich a young lady with such coolness and apparent in- 
difference quite passed Anne's powers of comprehension. 

“ It beats me holler — that it do ! ” she said to herself ; 
then, with a start, she ran off to her kitchen. 

Mrs. Home had taken her first cup of tea, and had even 
eaten a piece of bread and butter, before she again drew 
Charlotte Harman’s little note out of her pocket. This is 
what her eyes had already briefly glanced over : — 

“ Dear Friend and Sister — for you must let me call 
you so — I have come to see you, and finding you out asked 
to see your children. I have lost my heart to your beautiful 
and lovely children. They are very sweet ! Your baby is 
more like an angel than any earthly creature my eyes have 
ever rested on. Charlotte, I brought your children a few toys, 
and one or two other little things. You won’t be too proud 
to accept them. When I bought them I did not love your 
children, but I loved you. You are my near kinswoman. You 
won't take away the pleasure I felt when I bought those 
things. Dear Sister Charlotte, when shall we meet again ? 
Send me a line, and I will come to you at any time. Yours, 

“ Charlotte Harman.” 

It is to be regretted that Charlotte Home by no means 
received this sweet and loving little note in the spirit in which 
it was written. Her pale, thin face flushed, and her eyes burnt 
with an angry light. This burst of excited feeling was but 
the outcome of all she had undergone mentally since she had 
left Miss Harman’s house a few days ago. She had said 
then, and truly, that she loved this young lady. The pride, 
the stately bearing, the very look of open frankness in 
Charlotte’s eyes had warmed and touched her heart. She 
had not meant to tell to those ears, so unaccustomed to sin 
and shame, this tale of long-past wrong. It had been in a 
manner forced from her, and she had seen a flush of per- 
plexity, then of horror, color the cheeks and fill the fine 
brave eyes. She had come away with her heart sympathies 
so moved by this girl, so touched, so shocked with what she 
herself had revealed, that she would almost rather, could her 


HOW IT ALL CAME HOUND, 


father’s money now be hers, relinquish it, than cause any 
further pain or shame to Charlotte Harman. 

She came home and confided what she had done to her 
husband. It is not too much to say that he was dis- 
pleased — that he was much hurt. The Charlotte who in her too 
eagerness for money could so act was scarcely the Charlotte 
he had pictured to himself as his wife. Charlotte was 
lowered in the eyes of the unworldly man. But just because 
her husband was so unworldly, so unpractical, Charlotte’s 
own more everyday nature began to reassert itself. She 
had really done no harm. She had but told a tale of wrong. 
Those who committed the wrong were the ones to blame. 
She, the sufferer — who could put sin at her door ? Her 
sympathy for Charlotte grew less, her sorrow for herself and 
her children more. She felt more sure than ever that injus- 
tice had been committed — that she and her mother had been 
robbed ; she seemed to read the fact in Charlotte 
Harman’s innocent eyes, Charlotte, in spite of herself, even 
though her own father was the one accused, believed her — 
agreed with her. 

All that night she spent in a sort of feverish dream, in 
which she saw herself wealthy, her husband happy, her chil- 
dren cared for as they ought to be. The ugly ugly poverty of 
her life and her surroundings had all passed away like a dream 
that is told. 

She got up in a state of excitement and expectation, for 
what might not Charlotte Harman do for her ? She would 
tell the tale to her father, and that father, seeing that his sin 
was found out, would restore her to her rights. Of course, 
this must be the natural consequence. Charlotte was not 
low and mean ; she would see that she had her own again. 
Mrs. Home made no allowance for any subsequent event — 
for any influence other than her own being brought to bear 
on the young lady. All that day she watched the post ; she 
watched for the possibility of a visit. Neither letter nor 
visit came, but Mrs. Home was not discouraged. That day 
was too soon to hear ; she must wait with patience for the 
morrow. 

On the morrow her husband, who had almost forgotten 
her story, asked her to come and help him in the care of a 
sick woman at some distance away. Charlotte was a capi- 
tal sick-nurse, and had often before given similar aid to Mr. 
Home in parish work. 

She went, spent her day away, and returned to find 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


83 

that Charlotte had come — that so far her dream was true. 
Yes, but only so far, for Charlotte had come, not in shame, 
but in the plenitude of a generous benefactor. She had 
come laden with girts, and had gone away with the hearts 
of the children and the little maid. Charlotte Home felt a 
great wave of anger and pain stealing over her heart. In 
her pain and disappointment she was unjust. 

“ She is a coward after all. She dare not tell her father. 
She. believes my tale, !r ,f she is not brave enough to see 
justice done to me and mine : so she tries to make up for 
it ; she tries to salve her conscience and bribe me v. ith gifts 
— gifts and flattery. I will have none of it. My rights — my 
true and just rights, or nothing ! These parcels shall go 
back unopened to-morrow.” She rose from her seat, and 
put them all tidily away on a side-table. She had scarcely 
done so before her husband’s latch-key was heard in the 
hall-door. He came in with the weary look which was 
habitual to his thin face. “ Oh, Angus, how badly you do 
want your tea ! ” said the poor wife. She was almost alarmed 
at her husband’s pallor, and forgot Charlotte while attending 
to his comfort. 

“ What are those parcels, Lottie ? ” 'he said, noticing the 
heaped-up things on the side-table. 

“ Never mind. Eat your supper first,” she said to him. 

“ I can eat, and yet know what is in them. They give 
quite a Christmas and festive character to the place. And 
what is that I see lying on that chair — a new doll for Daisy? 
Why, has my careful little woman been so extravagant as to 
buy the child another doll ? ” 

Mr. Home smiled as he spoke. His wife looked at him 
gravely. She picked up the very pretty doll and laid it with 
the other parcels on the side-table. 

“ I will tell you about the parcels and the doll if you wish 
it,” she answered. “ Miss Harman called when I was out, 
and brought cakes, and sweeties, and toys to the children. 
She also brought those parcels. I do not know what they 
contain, for I have not opened them. And she left a note 
for me. I cannot help the sweeties and cakes, for Harold 
and Daisy have eaten them; but the toys and those parcels 
shall go .back to-morrow.” 

Mrs.. Home looked very proud and defiant as she spoke. 
Hex husband glanced at hex fate ; then, with a slight aagh, 
he pushed his supper aside. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


84 


“No, I am not hungry, clear. I am just a little overtired. 
May I see Miss Harman’s note ? ” 

Charlotte put it at once into his hand. 

He read it carefully once — twice. His own spirit was 
very loving and Christ-like ; consequently the real love and 
true human feeling in the little note touched him. 

“ Lottie,” he said, as he gave it back to his wife, “ why do 
you want to pain that sweet creature ? ” 

Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the iire. 

“ There ! ” she said, an angry spot on each cheek. “ She 
and hers have injured me and mine. I don’t want gifts from 
her. I want my rights ! ” 

To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered 
nothing. After a moment or two of silence he rang the bell, 
and when Anne appeared asked her to take away the tea- 
things. After this followed an hour of perfect quiet. Mrs. 
Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home 
sat still, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he 
left the room to go for a moment to his own. Passing the 
nursery, he heard a little ' movement, and, entering softly, 
saw Harold sitting up in his little cot. 

“Father, is that you ? ” he called through the semi-light. 

“ Yes, my boy. Is anything the matter ? Why are you 
not asleep ? ” 

“ I couldn’t, father de„ar ; I’m so longing for to-morrow. 
I want to blow my new trumpet again, and to see the rest of 
the brown-paper parcels. Father, do come over to me for a 
moment.” 

Mr. Home came, and put his arm round the little neck. 

“ Did mother tell you that our pretty lady came to-day, 
and brought such a spendid lot of things ? ” 

“ Whose pretty lady, my boy ? ” 

“ Ours, father — the lady you, and I, and Daisy, and baby 
met in the park yesterday. You said it was rude to kiss her, 
and she did not mind. She gave me dozens and dozens of 
kisses to-day.” 

“She was very kind to you,” said Mr. Home. Then, 
bidding the child lie down and sleep, he left him and went 
oh to his own room. He was going to his room with a 
. purpose. That purpose was quickened- into intensity by 
little Harold’s words. 

That frank, fearless, sweet-looking girl was Miss Harman ! 
That letter was, therefore, not to be wondered at. It was 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 85 

the kind of letter he would have expected such a woman to 
write. What was the matter with his Lottie ? 

“ In his perplexity he knelt down ; he remained upon his 
knees for about ten minutes, then he returned to the little 
parlor. The answer to his earnest prayer was given to him 
almost directly. His wife was no longer proud and cold. She 
looked up the moment he entered, and said, — 

“ You are angry with me, Angus.” 

“No, my darling,” he answered, “not angry, but very 
sorry for you.” 

“ You must not be sorry for me. You have anxieties 
enough. I must not add to them. Not all the Miss Harmans 
that ever breathe shall bring a cloud between you and me. 
Angus, may I put out the gas and then sit close to you ? 
You shall talk me out of this feeling, for I do feel bad.” 

“ I will talk all night if it makes you better, my own 
Lottie. Now, what is troubling you ? ” 

“ In the first instance, you don’t seem to believe this 
story about our money.” 

“ I neither believe it, nor the reverse — I simply don’t 
let it trouble me.” 

“ But, Angus, that seems a little hard ; for if the money 
was left to me by my father I ought to have it. Think 
what a difference it would make to us all — you, and me, and 
the children ? ” 

“ We should be rich instead of poor. It would make 
that difference, certainly.” 

“ Angus, you talk as if this difference was nothing.” 

“ Nothing ! It is not quite nothing ; but I confess it does 
not weigh much with me.” 

“If not for yourself, it might for the children’s sakes; 
think what a difference money would make to our darlings.” 

“ My dear wife, you quite forgot when speaking so, that 
they are God’s little children as well as ours. He has said 
that not a sparrow falls without His loving knowledge. Is 
it likely when that is so, that He will see His children and 
ours either gain or suffer from such a paltry thing as 
money ? ” 

“ Then you will do nothing to get back our own ? ” 

“ If you mean that I will go to law on the chance of our 
receiving some money which may have been left to us, certainly 
I will not. The fact is, Lottie^you may think me very 
eccentric — but I cannot move in this matter. , It seems to me 


86 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


to be entirely God’s matter, notours. If Mr. Harman has 
committed the dreadful sin you impute to him, God must 
bring it home to him. Before that poor man who for years 
has hidden such a sin in his heart, and lived such a life before 
his fellow-men, is fit to go back to the arms of His father, he 
must suffer dreadfully. I pray, from my heart I pray, that 
if he committed the sin he may have the suffering, for there 
is no other road to the Father; but I cannot pray that this 
awful suffering may be sent to give us a better house, and 
our children finer clothes, and that richer food may be put 
on our table.” 

Mrs. Home was silent for a moment, then she said, — 

“ Angus, forgive me, I did not look at it in that light.” 

“No, my dearest, and because I so pity her, if her 
father really is guilty, I do not want you unnecessarily to pain 
Miss Harman. You remember my telling you of that fine 
girl I met in Regent’s Park yesterday, the girl who was so 
kind and nice to our children. I have just been up with 
Plarold, and he tells me that your Miss Harman and his 
pretty lady are one and the same.” 

“Is that really so ?”. answered Mrs. Home. “ Yes. I 
know that Charlotte Harman is very attractive. Did I not 
tell you, Angus, that she had won my own heart ? But I confess 
when I saw those gifts and read her note I felt angry. I 
thought after hearing my tale she should have done more. 
These presents seemed to me in the light of a bribe.” 

“ Charlotte ! ” 

“Ah! I know you are shocked. You cannot see the 
thing with my eyes ; that is how they really looked to me.” 

“ Then, my dear wife, may I give you a piece of advice ? ” 

“That is what I am hungering for Angus.” 

“ Tell the whole story, as frankly — more frankly than 
you have told it to me, to God to-night. Lay the whole 
matter in the loving hands of your Father, then, Charlotte ; 
after so praying, if in the morning you still think Miss 
Harman was actuated by so mean a spirit, treat her as she 
deserves. With your own hands deal the punishment to her, 
send everything back.” 

Mrs. Home’s face flushed very brightly, and she lowered- 
her eyes to prevent her husband seeing the look of shame 
which filled them. The result of this conversation was the 
following note written the next morning to Miss Hfl-rman- 

“ I could not have thanked you last night for what you 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUIVD . 87 

have done, but I can to-day. You have won my children’s 
little hearts. Be thankful that you have made my dear little 
ones so happy. You ask to see me again, Miss Harman. I 
do not think I can come to you, and I don’t ask you to 
come here. Still I will see you; name some afternoon to 
meet me in Regent’s Park and 1 will be there. 

“ Yours, 

“ Charlotte Home. 

Thus the gifts were kept, and the mother tried to pray 
away a certain soreness which would remain notwithstanding 
all her husband’s words. She was human after all, however, 
and Charlotte Harman might have been rewarded had she 
seen her face the following Sunday morning when she brought 
her pretty children down to their father to inspect them in 
their new clothes. 

Harold went to church thatVnorning, with his mother, in a 
very picturesque hat ; but no one suspected quite how much it 
was worth, not ^.ven those jealous mothers who saw it and 
remarked upon it, and wondered who had left Mrs. Home a 
legacy, for stowed carefully away under the lining was Char- 
lotte Harman’s bright, crisp, fifty-pound note. 


CHAPTER XX. 

TWO CHARLOTTES. 

It was a week after ; the very day, in fact, on which Hin- 
ton was to give up his present most comfortable quarters for 
the chances and changes of Mrs. Home’s poor little dwelling. 
That anxious young wife and mother, having completed her 
usual morning duties, set off to K.egent’s Park to meet Miss 
Harman. It was nearly March now, and the days, even in 
the afternoon, were stretching, and though it was turning cold 
the feeling of coming spring was more decidedly getting into 
the air. 

Mrs. Home had told her children that she was going to 
meet their pretty lady, and Harold had begged hard to come 
too. His mother would have taken him, but he had a cold, 


SS HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

and looked heavy, so she started off for her long walk alone. 
Won by her husband’s gentler and more Christ-like spirit, 
Mrs. Home had written to Miss Harman to propose this 
meeting; but in agreeing to an interview with her kinswoman 
she had effected a compromise with her own feelings. She 
would neither go to her nor ask her to come to the little 
house in Kentish Town. The fact was she .wanted to meet 
this young woman on some neutral ground. There were 
certain unwritten, but still most stringent, laws of courtesy 
which each must observe in her own home to the other. 
Charlotte Home intended, as she went to meet Miss Harman 
on this day of early spring, that very plain words indeed 
should pass between them. 

By this it will be seen that she was still very far behind 
her husband, and that much of a sore and angry sensation 
was still lingering in her heart. 

“ Miss Harman will, of course, keep me waiting,” she said 
to herself, as she entered the park, and walked quickly to- 
wards the certain part where they had agreed to meet. She . 
gave a slight start therefore, when she saw that young wo- 
man slowly pacing up and down, with the very quiet and 
meditative air of one who had been doing so for some little 
time. Miss Harman was dressed with almost studied plain- 
ness and simplicity. All the rich furs which the children had 
admired were put away. When she saw Mrs. Home she * 
quickened her slow steps into almost a run of welcome, and y 
clasped her toil-worn and badly gloved hands in both her 
own. 

“ How glad I am to see you ! You did not hurry, I hope. 
You are quite out of breath. Why did you walk so fast ? ” 

“ I did not walk fast until I saw you under the trees, Miss 
Harman. I thought I should have time enough, for I im- 
agined I should have to wait for you.” 

“ What- an unreasonable thing to suppose of me ! I am 
the idle one, you the busy. No : I respect wives and mothers y 
too much to treat them in that fashion.” Miss Harman 
smiled as she spoke. 

Mrs. Home did not outwardly respond to the smile, though 
the gracious bearing, the loving, sweet face were beginning 
very slowly to effect a thaw, for some hard little ice lumps in 
her heart were melting. The immediate effect of this was, 
however, so strong a desire to cry that, to steel herself against 
these untimely tears, she became in manner harder than 
ever. 


HOW IT ALL CAME HOUND . 


89 

‘‘And now what shall we do?” said Charlotte Harman. 
“ The carriage is waiting for us at the next gate ; shall we go 
for a drive, or shall we walk about here ? ” * 

“ I would rather walk here,” said Mrs. Home. 

“ Very well. Charlotte, I am glad to see you. And how 
are your children ? ” 

“ Harold has a cold. The other two are very well.” 

“ I never saw sweeter children in my life. And do you 
know I met your husband ? He and your children both spoke 
to me in the park. It was the day before I came to your 
house. Mr. Home gave me a very short sermon to think 
over. I shall never forget it.” 

“ He saw you and liked you,” answered Mrs. Home. 
“ He told me of that meeting.” 

“ And I want another meeting. Such a man as that has 
never come into my life before. I want to see more of him. 
Charlotte, why did you propose that we should meet here ? 
Why not in my house, or in yours ? I wanted to come to you 
again. I was much disappointed when I got your note.” 

“ I am sorry to have disappointed you ; but I thought it 
best that we should meet here.” 

“ But why ? I don’t understand.” 

“ They say that rich people are obtuse. I did not want 
to see your riches, nor for you to behold the poverty of ipy 
land.” 

“ Charlotte ! ” 

“ Please don’t think me very hard, but I would rather you 
did not say Charlotte.” 

“ You would rather I did not say Charlotte ? ” 

Two large tears of surprise and pain filled Miss Harman’s 
I gray eyes. But such a great flood of weeping was so near the 
| surface with the other woman that she dared not look at her. 

“ I would rather you did not say Charlotte,” she repeated, 

; “for we call those whom we love and are friendly with by 
| their Christian names.” 

“ I thought you loved me. You said so. You can’t take 
bajk your own words.” 

“ I don’t want to. I do love you in my heart. I feel I 
could love you devotedly ; but for all that we can never be 
friends.” 

Miss Harman was silent for a moment or two, then she 
said slowly, but with growing passion in her voice, “ Ah ! you 
are thinking of that wretched money. I thought love rankecj 
higher than gold all the world ovor.” 


9 o 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


“ So it does, or appears to do, for those, who all their 
lives have had plenty ; but it is just possible, just possible, I 
say, that those who are poor, poor enough to know what 
hunger and cold mean, and have seen their dearest want- 
ing the comforts that money can buy, it is possible that such 
people may prefer their money rights to the profession of ! 
empty love.” 

“Empty love!” repeated Miss Harman. The words I 
stung her. She was growing angry, and the anger became 
this stately creature well. With cheeks and eyes both glow- 
ing she turned to her companion. “ If you and I are not to 
part at once, and never meet again, there must be very plain ; 
words between us. Shall I speak those words ? ” she asked. 

“ I came here that our words might be very plain,” ans- 
wered Mrs. Home. 

“ They shall be,” said Charlotte Harman. 

They were in a very quiet part of the park. Even the 
nurses and children were out of sight- Now they ceased 
walking, and turned and faced each other. 

They were both tall, and both the poor and the rich young 
woman had considerable dignity of bearing ; but Charlotte 
Home was now the composed one. Charlotte Harman felt 
herself quivering with suppressed anger. Injustice was be- 
ing dealt out to her, and injustice to the child of affluence 
and luxury was a new sensation. 

“ You came to me the other day,” she began, “ I had 
never seen you before, never before in all my life ever heard 
your name. You, however, knew me, and you told me a story. 
It was a painful and very strange story. It made you not 
only my very nearest kin, but also made you the victim of a 
great wrong. The wrong was a large one, and the victim 
was to be pitied ; but the sting of it all lay, to me, not in either 
of the facts, but in this, that you gave me to understand that 
he who had dealt you such a blow was — my father. My 
father, one of the most noble, upright, and righteous of men,’ 
you made out to me, to me, his only child, to be no better than 
a common thief. I did not turn you from my doors for your 
base words. I pitied you. In spite of myself I liked you ; 
in spite of myself I believed you. You went away, and in the 
agony of mind which followed during the next few hours I 
could have gladly fled for ever from the sight of all the wide 
world. I had been the very happiest of women. You 
came. You went. I was one of the most miserable. I am 
engaged to be married, and the man I am engaged to came 


DO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


OT 


iutc the ream. I felt guilty before him. I could not rake 
my eyes to his, for, again I tell you, I believed your tale, and 
my fathers bitter shame was mine. I could not rest. Hap- 
pen what w'ould I must learn the truth at once. I have an 
uncle my father’s brother ; he must know all. I sent my lover 
away and ^vent to this uncle. I asked to have an interview 
with him, and in that interview I told him all you had told to 
me. He was not surprised. lie acknowledged at once the 
true and real relationship between us ; but he also explained 
away the base doubts you had put into my head. My father, 
my own beloved father, is all, and more than ail, I have ever 
thought him. He would scorn to be unjust, to rob any one. 
You have been unfortunate ; you have been treated cruelly ; 
but the injustice, the cruelty have been penetrated by one 
long years now in his grave. In short, your father has been 
the wicked man, not mine.” 

Here Mrs. Home tried to speak, but Miss Ilarman held 
up her hand. 

“You must hear me out,” she said. “Iam convinced, 
but I do not expect you to be. After my uncle had done 
speaking, and 1 had time to realize all the relief those words 
of his had given me, I said, still an injustice has been done. 
We have no right to our wealth while she suffers from such 
poverty. Be my grandfather’s will what it may, wc must 
alter it. We must so act as if he had left money to his 
youngest child. My uncle agreed with me ; perhaps not so 
fully as I could wish, still he did agree ; but he made one 
proviso. My father is ill, I fear. I fear he is very ill. The 
one dark cloud hanging over his whole life lay in those years 
when he was estranged from his own father. To speak of 
you I must bring back those years to his memory. Any ex- 
citement is bad for him now. My uncle said, * Wait until 
your father is better, then we will do something for Mrs. 
Home.’ To this I agreed. Was I very unreasonable to agree 
to this delay for my father’s sake? ” 

Here Charlotte Harman paused and looked straight at 
her companion. Mrs. Home’s full gaze met hers. Again, 
the innocent candor of the one pair of eves appealed straight 
to the heart lying beneath the other. Unconvinced she was 
still. SMI to her, her own story held go.d: but she- was 
softened, and she held out her hand. 

“There is no unreasonableness in you, Charlotte,” she 
said. 


9 * 


J/OIV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


“ Ah ! then you will call me Charlotte ? ” said the other, 
her face glowing with delight. 

M I call you so now. I won’t answer for the future.” 

“ We will accept the pleasant present. I don’t fear the 
future. I shall win your whole heart yet. Now let us drop 
all disagreeables ana talk about those we both love. Char- 
lotte, what a baby you have got ! Your baby must be an 
angel to you.” 

“ All my children are that to me. When I look at them 
I think God has sent to me three angels to dwell with me.” 

“ Ah 1 what a happy thought, and what a happy woman. 
Then your husband, he must be like the archangel Gabriel, 
so just, so righteous, so noble. I love him already : but I 
think I should be a little afraid of him. He is so — so very 
unearthly. Now you, Mrs. Home, let me tell you, are Very 
earthly, very human indeed.” 

Mrs. Home smiled, for this praise of her best beloved 
could not but be pleasant to her. She told Miss Harman a 
little more about her husband and her children, and Miss 
Harman listened with that appreciation which is the sweet- 
est flattery in the world. After a time she said, — 

“ I am not going to marry any one the least bit unearthly , 
but I see you are a model wife, and I want to be likewise. For 
— did I not tell you ? — I am to be married in exactly two 
months from now.” 

“ Are yon really ? Are you indeed ? ” 

. Was it possible after this piece of confidence for these 
two young women not to be friends ? 

Charlotte Home, though so poor, felt suddenly, in experi- 
ence, in all true womanly knowledge, rich beside her com- 
panion. Charlotte Harman, for all her five and twenty years, 
was but a child beside this earnest wife and mother. 

They talked ; the one relating her happy experience, the 
other listening, as though on her wedding-day she was cer- 
tainly to step into the land of Beulah. It was the old, old 
story, repeated again, as those two paced up and down in 
the gray March afternoon. When at last they parted there 
was no need to say that they were friends. 

Akd yet as she hurried home the poor Charlotte could 
not help reflecting that whatever her cause she had done 
nothing for it. Charlotte Harman might be very sweet. It 
might be impossible not to admire her, to love "her, to take 
her to her heart of hearts. But would that love bring back 
her just rights ? would that help her children by and bv ? 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. g :> 

She reached her hall door to find her husband standing 
there. 

“ Lottie, where have you been ? I waited for you, for I 
did not like to go out and leave him. Harold is ill, and the 
doctor has just left.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A. FRIEND IN NEED. 

For many days after that interview in Regent’s Park, it 
seemed that one of the three, who made the little house in 
Kentish Town so truly like heaven, was to be an angel in- 
deed. Harold's supposed cold had turned to scarlet fever, 
and the doctor feared that Harold would die. 

Immediately after her interview with Charlotte Harman, 
Mrs. Home went upstairs to learn from the grave lips of the 
medical man what ailed her boy, and what a hard fight for 
life or death he had before him. She was a brave woman, 
and whatever anguish might lie underneath, no tears filled 
her eyes as she looked at his flushed face. When the doc- 
tor had gone, she stole softly from the sick-room, and going 
to the drawing-room where Hinton was already in possession, 
she tapped at the door. 

To his “ Come in,” she entered at once, and said abruptly 
without preface, — 

“ I hope you have unpacked nothing. I must ask you to 
go away at once.’ J 

She had her bonnet still on, and, but for the pallor of her 
face, she looked cold, even unmoved. 

<f I have everything unpacked, and I don’t want to go. 
Why should I ? ” demanded Hinton, in some surprise. 

“ My eldest boy has scarlet fever. The other two will 
probably take it. You must on no account stay here ; you 
must leave to-night if you wish to escape infection.” 

In an instant Hinton was by her side. 

“ Your boy has scarlet fever?” he repeated. “ I know 
something of scarlet fever. He must instantly be moved to 
an airy bedroom. The best bedroom in the house is mine. 
Your boy must sleep in my bedroom to-night. ’ 

“ It is a good thought,” said Mrs. Home. *• Thank you 
for suggesting it — I will move him down at once ; the bed is 


BOVS IT ALL CAME ROVBD. 


94 

well aired, and the sheets are fresh and clean. I will have 
him moved whenever you can go.” 

She was leaving the room when Hinton followed her. 

“ I said nothing about going. I don’ 4 , mean to. I can 
have a blanket and sleep on the sofa. I am not going away, 
Mrs. Home.” 

“ Mr. Hinton, have you nc one you care for ? Why do 
you run this risk.” 

“ I have some one I care for very much indeed ; but I 
run no risk. I had scarlet fever long ago. In any case I 
have no fear of infection. Now I know your husband is out; 
let me go upstairs and help you bring down the little fellow ” 

“ God bless you,” said the wife and mother. Her eyes 
were beautiful as she raised them to the face of this good 
Samaritan. 

* * # * * 

The little patient was moved to the large and comfortable 
room, and Hinton found himself in the position of good an- 
gel to this poor family. He had never supposed himself 
capable of taking such a post with regard to any one ; but 
the thing seemed thrust upon him. An obvious duty had 
come into his life, and he never even for the briefest instant 
dreamed of shirking it. He was a man without physical 
fear. The hardships of life, the roughing of poverty were 
not worth a passing thought of annoyance ; but there was 
one little act of self-denial which he must now exercise ; and 
it is to be owned that he felt it with a heart-pang. He had 
never told Charlotte that he was going to live in the house with 
Mrs. Home. He had not meant to keep this fact a secret from 
her, but there was still a soreness over him when he thought 
of this young woman which prevented her name coming 
readily to his lips. On this first night in his new abode he 
sat down to write to his promised wife ; but neither now did 
he give his address, nor tell his landlady's name. He had 
an obvious reason, however, now for his conduct. 

This was what Charlotte received from her lover on the 
following morning, — 

“ My Darling, — Such a strange thing has happened ; 
but one which, thank God, as far as I am concerned, need 
not cause you the least alarm. I moved from my old 
lodgings to-day and went a little further into the country. 
I had just unpacked my belongings and was expecting 
some tea, for I was hot and thirsty, when my landlady 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


95 

came in and told me that her eldest child is taken very ill 
with scarlet fever. She has other children, and fears the 
infection will spread. She is a very poor woman, but 
is one of those who in their bearing and manner, you, Char- 
lotte, would call noble. She wanted me to leave at once, but 
this, Charlotte, I could not do. I am staying here, and will 
give her what little help lies in my power. You know there 
is no fear for me, for I had the complaint long ago. But, 
dearest, there is just one thing that is hard. Until this little 
child is better, I must not see you. You have not had this 
fever, Charlotte, and for you, for my own sake, and your 
father’s sake, I must run no risk. I will write to you every 
day, or as much oftener as you wish, for I can disenfect my 
paper ; but I will not go to Prince’s Gate at present. 

“ Ever, my own true love, 

“ Yours most faithfully, 

“ John Hinton.” 

This letter was posted that very night, but Hinton did 
not put his new address on it ; he meant Charlotte now for 
prudential reasons to write to his chambers. He returned 
to his lodgings, and for many weary and anxious nights to 
come shared their watch with Mr. and Mrs. Home. So quiet- 
ly, so absolutely had this young man stepped into his office, 
that the father and mother did not think of refusing his ser- 
vices. He was a good nurse, as truly tender-hearted and 
brave men almost always are. The sick child liked his 
touch. The knowledge of his presence was pleasant. When 
nothing else soothed him, he would lie quiet if Hinton held 
his little hot hand in his. 

One evening, opening his bright feverish eyes, he fixed 
them full on Hinton’s face and said slowly and earnestly, — 

“ I did kiss that pretty lady.” 

“ He means a lady whom he met in the Park ; a Miss 
Harman, who came here and brought him toys,” explained 
Mrs. Home. 

“ Yes, isn’t she a pretty lady ? ” repeated little Harold. 

“ Very pretty,” answered Hinton, bending low over him. 

The child smiled. It was a link between them. He 
again stole his hand into that of the young man. But as 
days wore on and the fever did not abate, the little life in 
that small frame began to grow feeble. From being an im- 
possibility, it grew to be probable, then almost certain, that 


BOW IT ALL CAME kOUND. 


96 

the little lad must die. Neither father nor mother seemed 
alive to the coming danger; but Hinton, loving less than 
they did, was not blinded. He had seen scarlet fever before, 
he knew something of its treatment ; he doubted the proper 
course having ever been pursued here. One evening he fol- 
lowed the doctor from the sick-room. 

“The child Js very ill,” he said. 

“ The child is so ill,” answered the medical man, “ that 
humanly speaking there is very little hope of his life.” 

“ Good sir ! ” exclaimed Hinton, shocked at his fears be- 
ing put into such plain language. “ Don’t you see that those 
parents’ lives are bound up in the child’s, and they know 
nothing ? Why have you told them nothing ? Only to-night 
his mother thought him better.” 

“ The fever is nearly over, and in consequence the real 
danger beginning ; but I dare not tell the mother, she would 
break down. The father is of different stuff, he would bear 
it. But there is time enough for the mother to know when 
all is over.” 

“ I call that cruel. Why don’t you get in other advice ? ” 

“ My dear sir, they are very poor people. Think of the 
expense, and it would be of no use, no use whatever.” 

“ Leave the expense to me, and also the chance of its 
doing any good. I should never have an easy moment if I 
let that little lad die without having done all in my power. 
Two heads are better than one. Do you object to consulting 
with Dr. H ? ” 

“ By no means, Mr. Hinton. He is a noted authority on 
such cases.” 

“ Then be here in an hour from now, doctor, and you 
shall meet him.” 

Away flew Hinton, and within the specified time the 
great authority on such cases was standing by little Harold’s 
bedside. 

“ The fever is over, but the child is sinking from exhaus- 
tion. Give him a glass of champagne instantly,” were the 
first directions given by the great man. 

Hinton returned with a bottle of the best his money 
could purchase in ten minutes. 

A tablespoonful was given to the child. He opened his 
eyes and seemed revived. 

“ Ah ! that is good. I will stay with the little fellow to- 
night,” said Dr, H , “ You, madam,” he added, look- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ^ 

ing at Mrs. Home, “ are to go to bed. On no other condi- 
tion do I stay.” 

Hinton and Dr. H shared that night’s watch between 

them, and in the morning the little life was pronounced safe. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

EMPTY PURSES. 

It was not until Harold’s life was really safe that his 
mother realised how very nearly he had been taken from her. 
. But for Hinton’s timely interposition, and the arrival of Doc- 
tor H at the critical moment, the face she so loved 

might have been cold and still now, and the spirit have re- 
turned to God who gave it. 

Looking at the little sleeper breathing in renewed health 
„ and life with each gentle inspiration, such a rush of gratitude 
and over-powering emotion came over Mrs 1 Home that she 
was obliged to follow Hinton into his sitting-room. There 
she suddenly went down on her knees. 

“ God bless you,” she said." “ God most abundantly 
bless you for what you have done for me and mine. You 
are, except my husband, the most truly Christian man I ever 
met.” 

“ Don’t,” said Hinton, moved and even shocked at her 
position. “I loved 1 — I love the little lad. It is nothing, 
what we do for those we love.” 

“ No ; it is, as you express it, nothing to save a mother’s 
heart from worse than breaking,” answered Charlotte Home. 
“ If ever you marry and have a son of your own, you will be- 
gin to understand what you have done for me. You will be 
thankful then to think of this day.” 

Then with a smile which an angel might have given him, 
the mother went away, and Hinton sat down to write to 
Charlotte. But he was much moved and excited by those 
earnest words of love and approval. He felt as though a 
laurel wreath had been placed on his head, and he wondered 
would his first brief, his first sense of legal triumph, be 
sweeter to him than the look in that mother’s face this morn- 
ing. 


9 8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


“ And it was so easily won,” he said to himself. “ For 
who but a brute under the circumstances could have acted 
otherwise ? ” 

In writing to Charlotte he told her all. It was a relief to 
pour out his heart to her, though of course he carefully kept 
back names. 

By return of post he received her answer. 

“ I must, do something for that mother. You will not 
let me come to her. But if I cannot and must not come, I 
can at least help with money. How much money shall I send 
you ? ” 

To this Hinton answered, — 

“ None. She -is a proud woman. She would not accept 
it.” 

As he putlhis second letter in the post, he felt that any 
money gift between these two Charlottes would be impossible. 
During little Harold’s illness he had put away all thoughts * 
of the possibility of Mrs. Home being entitled to any of his 
Charlotte’s wealth. The near and likely approach of death 
had put far from his mind all ideas of money. But now, 
with the return of the usual routine of life in this small and 
humble house, came back to Hinton’s mind the thoughts 
which had so sorely troubled him on the night on which 
Charlotte had told him Mrs. Home’s story. For his own 
personal convenience and -benefit he had put away these 
thoughts. He had decided that he could not move hand or 
foot in the matter. But in the very house with this woman, 
though he might so resolve not to act, he pould not put the 
sense of the injustice done to her away from his heart. He 
pondered on it and grew uneasy as to the righteousness of- 
bis own conduct. As this uneasiness gathered strength, he 
even avoided Mrs. Home’s presence. For the first time, too, 
in his life Hinton was beginning to realize what a very ugly 
thing poverty — particularly the poverty of the upper classes 
— really is. To make things easier for this family in their 
time of illness, he had insisted on having what meals he 
took in the house, in the room with Mr. and Mrs. Home. 
He would not, now that Harold was better, change this cus- 
tom. But though he liked it, it brought him into direct con- 
tact with the small shifts necessary to make so slender a 
purse as their’s cover their necessary expenses. Mr. Home 
noticed nothing ; but Mrs. Home’s thin face grew more and 
more worn, and Hinton’s heart ached as he watched it. He 
felt more and more compunctions as to his own conduct. 


ttOW If ALL CAML kOUND. 


99 

These feelings were to be quickened into activity by a very 
natural consequence which occurred just then. 

Little Harold’s life was spared, and neither Daisy nor the 
baby had taken the fever. So far all was well. Doctor 

H ,too, had ceased his visits, and the little invalid was left 

to the care of the first doctor who had been called in. Yes, 
up to a certain point Harold’s progress towards recovery was 
all that could be satisfactory. But beyond that point he did 
not go. For a fortnight after the fever left him his progress 
towards recovery was rapid. Then came the sudden stand- 
still. His appetite failed him, a cough came on, and a hectic 
flush in the pale little face. The child was pining for a change 
of air, and the father’s and mother’s purse had been already 
drained almost to emptiness by the expenses of the first illness. 
One day when Doctot Watson came and felt the feeble, too, 
rapid pulse he looked grave. Mrs. Home followed him from 
the room. 

“ What ails my boy, doctor ? He is making no progress, 
none whatever.” 

“ Does he sleep enough ? ” asked Doctor Watson sud- 
denly. 

' “ Not well ; he coughs and is restless.” 

“ Ah ! I am sorry he has got that cough. How is his 
appetite ? ” 

“ He does not fancy much food. He has quite turned 
against his beef-tea.” 

Doctor Watson was silent. • ' * 

“ What is wrong ?” asked Mrs. Home, coming nearer and 
looking up into his face. 

“ Madam, there is nothing to alarm yourself with. Your 
boy has gone through a most severe illness ; the natural con- 
sequences must follow. He wants change. He will be fit 
to travel by easy stages in a week at latest. I should recom- 
mend Torquay. It is mild and shielded from the spring east 
winds. Take him to Torquay as soon as possible. Keep 
him there for a month, and he will return quite well.” 

“ Suppose I cannot ? ” 

“ Ah ! then ” with an expressive shrug of the shoulders 

and raising of the brows, “ my advice is to take him if pos- 
sible. I don’t like that cough.” 

Doctor Watson turned away. He felt sorry enough, but 
he had more acute cases than little Harold Home’s to trouble 
him, and he wisely resolved that to think about what could 
not be remedied, would but injure his own powers of working. 


100 


HOW IT, ALL CAME ROUND . 


Being a really kind-hearted man he said to himself, “ I will 
make their bill as light as I can when I send it in.” And 
then he forgot the poor curate’s family until the time came 
round for his next visit. Meanwhile Mrs. Home stood still 
for a moment where he had left her, then went slowly to her 
own room. 

“ Mother, mother, I want you,” called the weak, querulous 
voice of the sick child. 

“ Coming in a moment, darling,” she said. But for that 
one moment, she felt she must be alone. 

Locking her door she went down on her knees. Not a 
tear came to her eyes, not a word to her lips. There was an 
inward groan, expressing itself in some voiceless manner 
after this fashion, — 

“ My God, my God, must I go through the fiery furnace ? ” 
Then smoothing her hair, and forcing a smile back to her 
lips, she went back to her little son. 

All that afternoon she sat with him, singing to him, tell- 
ing him stories, playing with him. In the evening, however, 
she sought an opportunity to speak to her husband alone. 

“ Angus, you know how nearly we lost our boy a week 
ago ? ” 

The curate paused, and looked at her earnestly, surprised 
at her look and manner. 

“Yes, my dearest,” he said. “ But God was merciful.” 

“ Oh ! Angus,” she said ; and now relief came to her, 
for as she spoke she began to weep. “ You are good, you 
are brave, you could have let him go. But for me — for me 
— it would have killed me. I should have died or gone 
mad ! ” 

“ Lottie dear — my darling, you are over-strung. The 
trial, the fiery trial, was not sent. Why dwell on what our 
loving Father has averted ? ” 

“ Oh, Angus ! but has He— has He,” then choking with 
pent-up emotion, she told what the doctor had said to-day, 
how neccessary the expensive change was for the little life. 
“ And we have no money,” she said in conclusion, “ our purse 
is very nearly empty.” 

“ Very nearly empty indeed,” answered Angus Home. 

He was absolutely silent after this news, no longer at- 
tempting to comfort his wife. 

“ Angus, God is cruel if for the sake of wanting a little 
money our boy must die.” , 

“ Don’t,” said the curate— God was so precious to him 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


101 


that these words smote on him even now with a sense of 
agony — “don’t,” he repeated, and he raised his hand as 
though to motion away an evil spirit. 

“ He is cruel if He lets our boy die for want of money to 
save him,” repeated the mother in her desperation. 

“ He won’t do that, Lottie — He will never do that, there 
is not the least fear.” 

“Then how are we to get the money ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I cannot think to-night. I will go up to 
Harold now.” 

He turned and left the room with slow steps. As he 
mounted the stairs his back was so bent, his face so gray and 
careworn, that though scarcely forty he looked like an old 
man. 

This was Harold’s one precious hour with his father, and 
the little fellow was sitting up in bed and expecting him. 

“ Father,” he said, noticing the anxious look on his face, 
which was generally as serene and peaceful as the summer 
sea, “what is the matter? You are ill; are you going to 
have the scarlet fever too ? ” 

“ No, my dear, dear boy. I am quite well, quite well at 
least in body. I have a care on my mind that makes me look 
a little sad, but don’t notice it, Harold, it will pass.” 

“ You have a care on your mind ! ” said Harold in a tone 
of surprise. “ I know mother often, often has, but I did not 
think you had cares, father.” 

“ How can I help it, boy, sometimes ? ” 

“ I thought you gave youfcares to God. I don’t under- 
stand a bit how you manage it, but I remember quite well 
your telling mother that you gave your cares away to God.” 

The father turning round suddenly, stooped down and 
kissed the boy. 

“Thank you, my son, for reminding me. Yes, I will 
give this care" too to God, it shall not trouble me.” 

Then the two began to talk, and the son’s little wasted 
hand was held in the father’s. The father’s face had recov- 
ered its serenity, and the little son, though he coughed con- 
tinually, looked happy. 

“ Father,” he said suddenly, “ there’s just one thing I’m 
sorry for.” 

“ What’s that, my boy ? ” 

“ There were a whole lot of other things, father ; about 
my never having gone to live in the country, and those gypsy 
teas that mother told me of. You light a fire outside, you 


02 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


know, father, and boil the kettle on it, and have your tea in 
the woods and the fields. It must be just delicious. I was 
sorry about that, for I’ve never been to one, never even to 
one all my life long; and then there’s the pretty lady — I do 
want to see my pretty lady once again. I was sorry about 
those things all day, but not now. ’Tisn’t any of those things 
makes me so sorry now.” 

“ What makes you sorry, Harold ? ” 

“ Father, I’m just a little bit jealous about Jesus. You 
see there’s always such a lot of us little children dying and 
going to heaven, and He can-’t come for us all, so He has to 
send angels. Now I don’t wan’t an angel, I want Him to 
come for me Himself.” 

“ Perhaps He will, Harold,” said his father, “ perhaps 
Jesus will be so very loving to His little lamb that He will 
find time to come for him Himself.” 

“ Oh, father ! when you are giving Him your new care to- 
night, will you just ask Him not to be so dreadfully busy, 
but to try and come Himself ? ” 

“Yes, Harold,” said the father. 

After this promise little Harold went to sleep very hap- 

p>*y- 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“THY .WILL BE DONE.” 

“You always give your tares to God,” little Harold had 
said to his father. 

That father, on his knees with his head bowed between 
his hands, and a tempest of agony, of entreaty in his heart, 
found suddenly that he could not give this care away to 
God. For a moment, when the boy had spoken, he had 
believed that this was possible, but when little Harold 
had himself spoken so quietly of dying and going to Jesus, 
the father’s heart rose suddenly in the fiercest rebellion. No ; 
if it meant the slaying of his first-born he could not so quietly 
lay it in the hands of God and say, “ Thy will be done.” This 
unearthly man, who had always lived with a kind of heaven- 
sent radiance round his path, found himself suddenly human 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


103 

after all. His earthly arms clung tightly round the earthly 
form of his pretty little lad and would not unclasp themselves. 
It was to this man who had so serenely and for many years 
walked in the sunshine of God’s presence, with nothing to 
hide his glory from his eyes, as though he had come up to a 
high, a blank, an utterly impenetrable wall, which shut away 
all the divine radiance. He could neither climb this wall, 
nor could he see one glimpse of God at the dark side where 
he found himself. In an agony this brave heart tried to pray, 
but his voice would not rise above his chamber, would not 
indeed even ascend to his lips. He found himself suddenly 
voiceless and dumb, dead despair stealing over him. He did 
not, however, rise from his knees, and in this position his 
wife found him when, late that night, she came up to bed. 
She had been crying so hard and so long that by very force 
of those tears her heart was lighter, and her husband, when 
he raised his eyes, hollow from the terrible struggle within, 
to her face, looked now the most miserable of the two. 
The mute appeal in his eyes smote on the wife’s loving heart, 
instantly she came over and knelt by his side. 

“You must come to bed, Angus dear. I have arranged 
with Mr. Hinton, and he will sit up with our little lad for the 
next few hours.” 

“ I could not sleep, Lottie,” answered the husband. 
“ God is coming to take away our child and I can’t say, ‘ Thy 
will be done.” ’ 

“ You can’t ! ” repeated the wife, and now her lips fell 
apart and she gazed at her husband. 

“ No Lottie ; you called God cruel downstairs, and now 
He looks cruel to me. I can’t give Him my first-born. * I 
can’t say ‘ Thy will be done ; ’ but oh ! ” continued the 
wretched man, “ this is horrible, this is blasphemous. Oh ! 
has God indeed forsaken me ? ” 

“ No, no, no ! ” suddenly almost shrieked the wife ; “ no, 
no ! ” she repeated ; arfd n<7 w she had flung her arms round 
her husband and was straining him to her heart. “ Oh, my 
darling ! my beloved ! you w ere never, never, never, so near to 
me. so dear to me, as" now. God does not want you to say 
that, Angus. Angus, it is not God’s will that our child should 
die, ’it is Satan’s will, not God’s. God is love, and it can’t be 
love to torture us, and tear our darling away from us like that. 
The ‘will of God is righteousness, and love, and happiness , 
not darkness, and death, and misery. Oh, Angus \ let us both 


104 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

kneel here and say, ‘ Thy will be done/ for I believe the will 
of God will be to save the child.” 

A great faith had suddenly come to this woman. She 
lifted her voice, and a torrent of eloquent words, of passion- 
, ate utterances, rent the air and went up to God from that 
little room, and the husband stole his hand into the wife’s as 
she prayed. After this they both slept, and Lottie’s heart 
was lighter than it had ever been in all her life before. 

The next morning this lightness, almost gayety of heart, 
wac still there. For the time sh£ had really changed places 
with her husband ; for, believing that the end would be good, 
she felt strong to endure. 

Mr. and Mrs. Home went downstairs to find Hinton re- 
garding them anxiously. He had not spent a long night with 
the sick child without gathering very clearly how imminent 
was the peril still hanging over the family. Harold’s night 
had been a wretched one, and he was weaker this morning. 
Hinton felt that a great deal more must be done to restore 
Harold to health ; but he had not heard what Dr. Watson 
had said, and was therefore as yet in the dark and much 
puzzled how best to act. Seeing the mother’s face serene, 
almost calm, as she poured out the tea, and the father’s 
clouded over, he judged both wrongly. 

“ She is deceived,” he said of the one. “ He knows,” he 
said of the other. Had he, however, reversed the positions 
it would have been nearer the truth. 

He went away with a thousand schemes in his head. He 
would visit the doctor. He would — could he — might he, risk 
a visit to Charlotte ? He was resolved that in some way he 
must save the boy ; but it was not reserved for his hand to 
do the good deed on this occasion. After breakfast he went 
out, and Mr. Home, feeling almost like a dead man, hurried 
off to the daily service. 

For a brief moment Charlotte was alone. The instant 
she found herself so, she went straight down on her knees, 
and with eyes and heart raised to heaven, said, aloud and 
fervently, — 

“ Thy holy, loving, righteous Will be done.” 

Then she got up and went to her little son. In the course 
of the morning the boy said to his mother, — 

“ Flow much I should like to see that pretty lady.” 

“ It would not be safe for her to come to you, my dar- 
ling,” said Mrs. Home, “ Yon are not yet quite free from in- 


HOW IT J/L CAME ROUND. 1 05 

fection, and if you saw her now she might get ill. You would 
not harm your pretty lady, Harold ? ” 

“ No, indeed, mother, not for worlds. But if I can’t see 
her,” he added, “may I have her toys to play with ? ” 

The mother fetched them and laid them on the bed. 

“ And now give me what was in the brown paper parcels, 
mother. The dear, dear, dainty clothes ! Oh ! didn’t our 
baby look just lovely in his velvet frock ? Please, mother, 
may I see those pretty things once again ? ” 

Mrs. Home could not refuse. The baby’s pelisse, Daisy’s 
frock, and Harold’s own hat were placed by his side. He 
took up the hat with a great sigh of admiration. It was' of 
dark purple plush, with a plume of ostrich feathers. 

“ May I put it on, mother ? ” asked the little lad. 

He did so, then asked for a glass to look at himself. 

“ Ah ? ” he said, half crying, half frightened at his wasted 
pale little face under this load of finery, “ I dor^’t like it now. 
My pretty, pretty lady’s hat is much too big for me now. I 
can’t wear it. Oh ! mother, wouldn’t she be disappointed ? ” 

“ She shan’t be,” said the mother, “for I will draw in the 
lining, and then it will fit you as well as possible.” 

“ But oh ! mother, do be careful. I saw her put in a nice 
little bit of soft paper ; I saw her put it under the lining my 
own self. You will crush that bit of paper if you aren’t care- 
ful, mother,” 

The mother did not much heed the little eager voice, she 
drew in a cord which ran round the lining, then again placed 
the hat on Harold’s head. 

“ Now it fits, darling,” she said. 

“ But I think the bit of paper is injured,” persisted the 
boy. “ How funny I should never have thought of it until 
now. I’ll take it out, mother, and you can put it by with the 
other things.” 

The little fingers poked under the lining and drew out 
something thin and neatly folded. 

“ Look, look, mother ! ” he said excitedly ; “ there’s writ- 
ing. Read it, mother ; read what she said.” 

Mrs. Home read, — 

“ For Harold, with his lady’s love.” 

She turned the paper. There, staring her in the face, 
lay a fresh, crisp Bank of England note for fifty pounds. 


HOW IT ALL CAME R0UN1 


io6 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

YOU KEPT A SECRET FROM ME.” 

Hinton, when he w§pt away that morning, was, as I have 
said, very undecided now best to act. He saw very clearly 
the fresh danger arising to Harold. Was he but rescued 
from the dangerous fever to fall a prey to lingering, or, per- 
haps, rapid consumption ? Even his unprofessional eye saw 
the danger the boy was in ; and the boy himself, lying awake 
during most of the weary hours of the night, had confided to 
his friend some thoughts which it seemed to Hinton could 
only come to such a child as the precursor of death. He 
now loved the boy for his own sake, and he was determined, 
even more determined than during the height of the fever, to 
do something to again save his life. 

After a brief pause for rapid thought, he determined to 
visit Dr. Watson. That busy man was at home and saw 
Hinton at once. 

“ Little Home is no better,” said Hinton, going straight, 
as his wont was, to the very heart of his subject. 

“ He will never be any better, unless he has change,” re- 
plied the doctor. “ Neither I nor any other man can now do 
more for him. He requires, nay, he is dying for want of na- 
ture’s remedies, complete change, fresh, mild sea-air. I told 
his mother so most plainly yesterday. I recommended Tor- 
quay within a week from now, if she wishes to save his life. ” 

“ Torquay is an expensive place, and a very long way 
from London,” replied Hinton. “ It seems almost cruel to 
tell Mrs. Home to do that for her child which must be utterly 
impossible.” 

“ There is no other chance for his life,” replied the doc- 
tor. “ I should be doing less than my duty, did I for a 
moment conceal that fact.” 

Hinton paused for a moment to think, then he abruptly 
changed the subject. 

“ I want to visit a friend this morning — a friend who has 
never had scarlet fever. It is rather important that we should 
meet; but I must not risk danger. You know I have been a 


HOW IT ALL QAjJE ROUXD. 


'107 

good deal with the little boy. Is there a Tisk to my friend 
in our meeting now ? ” 

“Change all your clothes,” replied the doctor; “wear 
nothing you have in the Homes’ house. Perhaps it would 
also be a wise precaution to take a Turkish bath. If you do 
all this you may meet your friend without the slightest risk 
of evil consequences.” 

Hinton thanked the doctor, and as the result of this con- 
versation entered the dining-room in Prince’s Gate just as 
Charlotte was sitting down to her solitary luncheon. 

It was over three weeks since these two had met, and the 
long three weeks had seemed like for ever to the loving 
heart of the woman, who was so soon now to be Hinton’s 
wife. She expressed her joy at this unexpected meeting, not 
so much by words, but so effectually with eyes and manner, 
that Hinton, as he folded his arms round her, could not help 
a great throb of thankfulness rising up from his heart. 

They sat down to lunch, and then afterwards Hinton told 
her the story of little Harold Home. In telling this tale, 
however, he omitted again both name and address. He had 
not meant when beginning his tale to keep these things any 
longer a mystery from her, but as the words dropped from 
him, and Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on his face, and Char- 
lotte’s lips trembled with emotion, some undefined sensation 
prompted him to keep back these particulars. 

Hinton, in coming to Charlotte, relied on her help, but he 
meant her just now' to bestow it as on a stranger. As he had 
expected, his tale aroused her warmest enthusiasm and in- 
terest. 

“John,” she said, “something must be done. The boy 
must not die ! ” 

“He must go to Torquay,” replied Hinton. “That is 
most manifest. But the difficulty will be how. They are 
very proud people. The difficulty will be how to induce 
them to accept aid from outsiders.” 

“ Do you think they will be proud, John, when their child’s 
life depends on their accepting some aid from others ? I 
don’t think they will allow so false an emotion to sacrifice 
his little precious life. It seems to me, that were I in that 
mother’s place, I would lick the dust off the most menial feet 
that ever walked, to save my child.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” said Hinton : u there is no doubt 
that one woman can best read the heart of another. What I 
propose is, that I take the little boy down to Torquay for a 


o8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


few weeks ; I c,an make an excuse to the mother on my own 
score, and it will not seem so hard for her to send her boy. 
And the little lad loves me, I believe.” 

“ Would it not be best for the mother to take her child 
herself ? ” 

“ It undoubtedly would. But it would be placing her 
under deeper obligation. I want to make it as light as pos- 
sible to her.” 

“Then, John, you will give me one happiness? I will 
provide the money for this expedition.” 

“You shall, my dearest,” answered Hinton, stooping 
down and kissing her. 

He meant /her to help Charlotte Home in this way, and 
he did not notice the slight sigh scarcely allowed to escape 
her lips. The fact was, Charlotte Harman had grown very 
hungry, almost starved, for her lover during his three weeks’ 
absence, and now the thought that he was going still farther 
away from her, and their wedding-day drawing so quickly on, 
could not but excite a pang ; the selfish part of her rose in 
revolt, and struggled to rebel, but with a firm hand she kept 
it well under, and Hinton never noticed her strangled little 
sigh. They talked for a long time of their plans, and Char- 
lotte mentioned what money she had of her very own, and 
which could be immediately at Hinton’s disposal. In the 
midst of this conversation, the postman’s knogk was heard, 
and a moment later a servant brought Charlotte a letter. She 
did not recognize the handwriting, and laid it for a moment 
unopened by her side. Then some confused remembrance 
of having seen it before, caused her to tear open the enve- 
lope. This was what her eyes rested on. 

“ Charlotte — my sister and friend — I have found the little 
piece of paper you put into my Harold’s hat. I never knew 
it was there until to-day. Thank God I did not know, for 
had I seen it after your visit, I should certainly, in my mad, 
ungracious, evil pride, have returned it to you. 

“ Dear Charlotte — God nearly broke my heart since I saw 
you. He nearly took my boy away. In that process my 
pride has gone, though my love and tenderness and grati- 
tude to you remain, for with this fifty pounds you are saving 
my child’s little life. Thank you for it. God will bless you 
for it. You will never — never regret this deed. It will come 
back to you, the remembrance of it, in the midst of your own 
wealth and affluence, or if dark days visit you, you will let 


H017 IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


109 

your thoughts wander to it as a place of safe anchorage in 
the storm. It will, all your life long, be a source to you of 
rejoicing that you saved a father's and mother’s hearts from 
breaking, and kept a precious little life in this world. 

“ I can add no more now, my dear. For this money must 
be spent, and at once. Oh ! precious, valuable gold, which 
is to keep Harold with me ! I will write to you when we 
come back from Torquay ; do not come to see me before, it 
would not be- safe for you. 

“ Ever, my dear friend, because of you, the happiest and 
most grateful mother on God’s earth, 

“Charlotte Home.” 

Charlotte Harman’s face was very white when, after read- 
ing this letter, she raised her eyes to Hinton’s. What had 
been written with all joy and thankfulness was received with 
pain. Why had Hinton kept this thing from her ? Why had 
he not told her where he had been staying ? 

“ You kept a secret from me,” she said, and her eyes 
filled with heavy tears. 

Then as he tried to comfort her, being very compunctious 
himself at having failed utterly to trust one so brave and 
noble, she suddenly drew herself from his embrace. 

“ John,” she said, with some pride in her voice, “ did you 
in any degree keep this thing from me because you believed 
Mrs. Home’s story about my grandfather’s will ? ” 

“ I had a thousand nameless reasons for not telling you, 
Charlotte. My principal one after the child got ill was my 
fear that you would come to the house, and so run the risk 
of infection.” 

“ Then you do not at all believe Mrs. Home’s story ? ” 

“ I have not investigated it, my darling. I have done 
nothing but simply listen to what you yourself told me. You 
do not believe it ? ” 

“ Certainly not ! How could I ? It implicates my 
father.” 

“ We will not think of it, Charlotte.” 

“ We must think of it, for justice must be done to this 
woman and to her children ; and besides, I wish to clear it 
up, for I will not have my father blamed.” 

Hinton was silent. Charlotte gazed at him eagerly, his 
silence dissatisfied her. His whole manner carrie d the convic- 
tion that his faith in her father was by no means equal to hers. 

“ Is it possible to see wills ? ” she asked suddenly. 


II0 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

“ Certainly, dear ; anybody can see any will by paying a 
shilling, at Somerset House.” 

““Would my grandfather’s will be kept at Somerset 
House ? ” 

“ Yes. All wills are kept there.” 

“ Then,” said Charlotte, rising as she spoke, “ before our 
wedding-day I will go to Somerset House and read my grand- 
father’s will.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THEY RECALL TOO MUCH. 

Mr. Harman had a hard task before him. He was keep- 
ing two things at bay, two great and terrible things, Death 
and Thought. They were pursuing him, they were racing 
madly after him, and sometimes the second of these his 
enemies so far took possession of him as to grasp him by the 
heartstrings. But though he knew well that in the end both 
one and the other would conquer and lay him low, yet still 
he was in a measure victor. That strong nourishment, those 
potent medicines were keeping the life in him ; while his still 
eager absorption in business prevented that time for reflection 
which was worse than death. His medical man, knowing 
nothing of his inner history, had begged of him to rest, to 
give up business, assuring him that by so doing he would 
prolong his short span of life. But Harman had answered, 
and truly, “ If I give up business I shall be in my grave in a 
fortnight ; ” and there was such solemn conviction in his 
voice and manner, that the physician was fain to bow to the 
dictum of his patient. Except once to his brother Jasper, 
and once to Hinton, Mr. Harman had mentioned to no one 
how near he believed his end to be. The Secret was not 
alluded to, the master of the house keeping up bravely, bear- 
ing his pains in silence and alone, and that subtle element 
of rejoicing began to pervade this quiet, luxurious home 
which precedes a wedding. Only one in the dwelling ever 
thought of funeral gloom. 

Little Harold Home had gone to Torquay with his mother. 

* Hinton was once more free to go in and out of the house in 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


Ill 


Prince's Gate, and he and Charlotte were necessarily much 
occupied with each other. There seemed to these two so 
much to be done, and the time seemed so short until the 
twentieth of April, that had the very sun stood still for them, 
they would have felt no undue sensation of surprise. 

When people are about to step into the Garden of Eden 
even nature must sympathize, and marriage seemed that to 
Charlotte' and Hinton. After their wedding tour it was ar- 
ranged that they were to pome to the house in Prince’s Gate. 
For some time Mr. Harman had begged them to make it 
their home ; but though Hinton could not oppose, he had a 
hope of some day settling down in a smaller house. He liked 
the power which wealth could give, but he was so unused to 
luxuries, that they were in themselves almost repellent to 
him. Charlotte, on the contrary, was perfectly happy to live 
in the old place. Home to this womanly heart was wherever 
her loved ones were ; and she also acceded joyfully to 
another question which otherwise might have appeared a 
little either strange or selfish. Her father begged of her not 
to extend her wedding tour beyond a week. “ Come back 
to me,” said the old man, “at the end of a week; let me 
feel that comfort when you say good-by on your wedding- 
day.” 

Charlotte had promised, with her arms round his neck and 
hej bright hair touching his silver locks. And now April had 
set in, and the days flew fast. All was bustle and confusion, 
and milliners and dressmakers worked as though there had 
never been a bride before, and Charlotte, too, believed there 
had never been so happy, so fortunate, so altogether blessed 
a woman as herself. 

One of those spring days, for the weather was particularly 
lovely, Mr. Harman came home earlier than usual and went 
to his study. For no special reason he had found it impos- 
sible to settle to any active work that morning. He had 
hastened home, and now taking his accustomed medicine, 
lay back in his armchair to rest. The medicine he had 
taken was partly of a sedative character, but to-day it failed 
in all soothing effects. That bloodhound Thought was near, 
and with a bound it sprang forward and settled its fangs into 
his heartstrings. 

Mr. Harman could not sit still, he rose and began to pace 
his room. Stay — how could he quiet this monster of remorse 
and reflection ? Would death doit by and by? Fie shook 
his head as this idea came to him. Were death but an anni- 


X 12 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


hilation he could, would, how gladly, welcome it, but all his 
firmest convictions pointed to a God and a future. A future to 
him meant retribution. He found it absolutely impossible to 
comfort his heart with so false a doctrine as that of annihila- 
tion. In the midst of his meditations his brother Jasper 
entered. 

“ Good Heavens ! John, you do look bad ! ” he exclaimed 
almost involuntarily, noticing the anguish on the fine old 
face. 

“Fm a very miserable man,” answered John Harman, 
and he sank down into a chair as he spoke. 

“ I would not think so much about my health,” said 
Jasper; “doctors are the most mistaken fools under the sun. 
I knew a man out in Australia, and the first medical man in 
Sydney told him he had not a week to live. He came home 
and made his will and bid all his relations good-by. Well, 
what were the consequences ? The week came to an end, 
but not the man ; my dear John, that man is alive now, and 
what is more, he is in the enjoyment of perfect health. The 
doctor was all wrong ; they are mortal like ourselves, man, 
and by no means infallible. I would not take my death for 
granted, if I were you ; I would determine to take out a 
fresh lease of life when Charlotte is married. Determination 
does wonders in such cases.” 

“ I am not thinking of my death,” answered Mr. Harman ; 
“ were death but all, I could almost weloome it. No, it is 
not death, it is memory. Jasper,” he added, turning fiercely 
on his brother, “ you were as the very devil to me once, why 
do you come to preach such sorry comfort now ? ” 

Jasper Harman had an impenetrable face, but at these 
words it turned a shade pale. He went ' to the fire and 
stirred .it, he put on more coal, he even arranged in a rather 
noisy way one or two of the chimney ornaments. 

“ If only that trustee had not died just then — and if only 
— only you had not tempted me,” continued the elder 
man. 

“ You forget, John,” suddenly said Jasper, “ what the al- 
ternative would have been just then, absolute ruin, ruin 
coupled with disgrace ! ” 

“ I do not believe in the disgrace, and as to the ruin, we 
could have started afresh. Oh ! to start even now with but 
sixpence in my pocket, and with clean hands ! What 
would have been the old disgrace compared to the present 
misery ? ” 


HOW IT ALL' CAME ROUND . 

u Take comfort, John, no one knows of it ; and if we are 
but careful no one need ever know. Don’t excite yourself, 
be but careful, and no one need ever know.” 

“ God knows,” answered the white-headed elder brother. 
And at these words Jasper again turned his face away. After 
a time, in which he thought briefly and rapidly, he turned, 
and sitting down by John, began to speak. 

“ Something has come to my knowledge which may be a 
comfort to you. I did not mention it earlier, because in your 
present state of health I know you ought not ter worry your- 
self. But as it seems you are so over-sensitive, I may as well 
mention that it will be possible for vou to make reparation 
without exposing yourself.” 

“ How ? ” asked Mr. Harman. 

“ I know where Daisy Harman’s daughter lives — you know 
we completely lost sight of her. I believe she is poor ; she 
is married to a curate, all curates are poor ; they have three 
children. Suppose, suppose you settled, say, well, half 
the money her mother had for her lifetime, on this 
young woman. That would be seventy-five pounds a year ; 
a great difference seventy-five pounds would make in a poor 
home.” 

“ A little of the robbery paid back,” said Mr. Harman 
with a dreary smile. “ Jasper, you are a worse rogue than I 
am, and I believe you study the Bible less. God knows I 
don’t care to confront myself with its morality, but I have a 
memory that it recommends, nay, commands, in the case of 
restoring again, or of paying back stolen goods, that not half 
should be given, but the whole, multiplied fourfold ! ” 

“ Such a deed, as Quixotic as unnecessary, could not be 
done, it would arouse suspicion,” said Jasper decidedly. 

After this the two brothers talked together for some time. 
Jasper quiet and calm, John disturbed and perplexed, too 
perplexed to notice that the younger and harder man was 
keeping back part of the truth. But conversation agitated, 
John Harman, agitated him so much that that evening some of 
the veil was torn from his daughter’s eyes, for during dinner 
he fainted away. Then there was commotion and dismay, 
and the instant sending for doctors, and John Hinton and 
Jasper Harman both felt almost needless alarm. 

When the old man came to himself he found his head 
resting on his daughter’s shoulder. During air the time he 
was unconscious she had eyes and ears for no one else. 

“ Leave me alone with the child,” he said feebly to all the 


how it all Came round . 


114 

others. When they were gone, he looked at her anxious 
young face. “ There is no cause, my darling, no cause what- 
ever ; what does one faint signify ? Put your arms round 
me, Charlotte, and I shall feel quite well.” 

She did so, laying her soft cheek against his. 

“ Now you shall see no one but me to-night,” she said, 
“ and I shall sit with you the whole evening, and you must 
lie still and not talk. You are ill, father, and you have tried 
to keep it from me.” 

“ A little weak and unfit for much now, I confess,” he said 
in a tone of relief. He saw she was not seriously alarmed, 
and it was a comfort to confide so far in her. 

“ You are weak and tired, and need rest,” she said : 
“ you shall see no one to-night but me, and I will stay with 
you the whole evening ! ” 

“What! ” said her father, “ you will give up Hinton for 
me, Lottie ! ” 

“ Even that I will do for you,” she said, and she stooped 
and kissed his gray head. 

“ I believe you love me, Lottie. I shall think of that all 
the week you are away. You are sure you will only remain 
away one week ? ” 

“ Father, you and I have never been parted before in all 
my life ; I promise faithfully to come back in a week,” she 
answered. 

He smiled at this, and allowing her still to retain his 
hand in hers, sank into a quiet sleep. While he slept 
Charlotte sat quietly at his feet. She felt perplexed and 
irresolute. Her father’s fainting fit had alarmed her, and 
now, looking into his face, even to her inexperience, the 
ravages which disease, both mental and physical, had brought 
there could not but be apparent to her. She had to acknowl- 
edge to herself that her father, only one year her Uncle 
"Jasper’s senior, looked a very old, nay, she could not shut 
her eyes to the fact, a very unhappy "man. What brought 
that look on his face ? A look which she acknowledged to 
herself she had seen there all her life, but which seemed to 
be growing in intensity with his added years. She closed 
her own eyes with a pang as a swift thought of great anguish 
came over her. This thought passed as quickly as it came ; 
in her remorse at having entertained it she stooped down 
and kissed the withered old hand which still lay in hers. 

It was impossible for Charlotte really to doubt her 
father ; but occupied as she was with her wedding prepara- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


£I 5 

tions, and full of brightness as her sky undoubtedly looked 
to her just now,, she had not forgotten Hinton’s manner 
when she had asked him what faith he put in Mrs. Home’s 
story. Hinton had evaded her inquiry. This evasion was 
as much as owning that he shared Mrs. Home’s suspicions. 
Charlotte must clear up her beloved father in the eyes of 
that other beloved one. If on all hands she was warned 
not to agitate him, there was another way in which she could 
do it : she could read her grandfather’s will. But though 
she had made up her mind to do this, she had an unaccount- 
able repugnance to the task. For the first time in all her 
open, above-board life she would be doing something which 
she must conceal from her father. Even John Hinton 
should not accompany her to Somerset House. She must 
find the will and master its contents, and the deed once 
done, what a relief to her ! With what joy would she with 
her own lips chase away the cloud which she felt sure rested 
over her beloved father in her lover’s heart ! 

“ It is possible that, dearly as we love each other, such 
a little doubt might divide us by and by,” she said to her- 
self. “ Yes, yes, it is right that I should dissipate it, abso- 
lutely right, when I feel so very, very sure.” 

At this moment her father stirred in his sleep, and she 
distinctly heard the words drop from his lips — 

“ I would make reparation.” 

Before she had even time to take thes^words in, he had 
opened his eyes and was gazing at her. 

“ You are better now,” she said, stooping down and kiss- 
ing him. 

“ Yes, my darling ; much, much better.” He sat up as 
he spoke, and' made an effort to put on at least a show of 
life and vigor. “ A man of my age fainting, Charlotte, is 
nothing,” he said; “really nothing whatever. You must 
not dwell on it again.” 

“ I will not,” she said. 

Her answer comforted him and he became really brighter 
and better. 

“ It is nice to have you all to myself, my little girl ; 
it is very nice. Not that I grudge you to Hinton ; I have a 
great regard ,for Hinton ; but, my darling, you and I have 
been so much to each other. We have never in all our lives 
had one quarrel.” 

“ Quarrel, father ! of course not. How can those who 
love as we do quarrel.” 


HO IV 17' ALL CAME ROUND. 


u6 

“ Sometimes they do, Lottie. Thank God, such an 
experience cannot visit you ; but it comes to some and 
darkens everything. I have known it.” 

“ You have, father ? ” In spite of herself, Charlotte 
felt her voice trembling. 

“ I had a great and terrible quarrel with my father, 
Charlotte ; my father, who seemed once as close to me as 
your father is to you. He married again, and the marriage 
displeased me, and such bitter words passed between us, 
that for years that old man and I did not speak. For years, 
the last years of his life, we were absolutely divided. We 
made it up in the end ; we were one again when he died ; 
but what happened then has embittered my whole life — my 
whole life.” 

Charlotte was silent, though the color was coiping into 
her cheeks and her heart began to beat. 

“ And to-day, Lottie,” continued Mr. Harman, “ to-day 
your uncle Jasper told me about my father’s little daughter. 
You have never heard of her ; she was a baby-child when I saw 
her last. There were many complications after my father’s 
death ; complications which you must take on trust, for I 
cannot explain them to you. They led to my never seeing 
that child again. Lottie, though she ‘was my little half- 
sister, she was quite young, not older than you, and to-day 
Jasper told me about her. He knows where she lives ; she 
is married and ^ias children, and is poor. I could never, 
never bring myself to look on her face; but some day, not 
when I am alive, but some day you may know her ; I should 
like you to know her some day, and to be kind to her. She 
has been hardly treated, into that too I cannot go ; but I 
must set it right. I mean to give her money ; you will not 
be quite so rich ; you won’t mind that ? ” 

“ Mind it ! mind it ! Oh, father ! ” And Charlotte suddenly 
began to weep ; she could not help that sudden, swift shower, 
though she struggled hard to repress it, seeing how her father 
trembled, and how each moment he looked more agitated. 

“ Do you know,” she said, checking her sobs as soon as 
she possibly could, “ that Uncle Jasper, too, has told me that 
story ; he asked me not to speak of it to you, for you would 
only be upset. He said how much you took to heart, even 
still, that time when your father was angry with you.” 

“ And I angry with him, Lottie ; and I with him. Don’t 
forget that.” 

“ Yes, dear father, he told me the tale. I longed to 


I/O IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . ! l y 

come to you with it, for it puzzled me, but he would not let 
me. Father, I, too, have seen that little sister ; she is not 
little now, she is tall and noble-looking. She is a sweet and 
brave woman, and she has three of the most lovely children 
I ever saw ; her children are like angels. Ah ! I shall be 
glad to help that woman and those children. I cannot thank 
you enough for doing this.” 

“ Don’t thank me, child ; in God’s name don’t thank me.” 

“ If you could but see those children.” 

“ I would not see them ; I would not ; I could not. 
Charlotte, you don’t know what bygone memories are to an 
old man like me. I could never see either the mother or 
the children. Lottie, -tell me nothing more about them ; if 
you love me never mention their names to me. They recall 
too much, and I am weak and old. I will help them; yes, 
before God I promise to help them ; but I can never either 
see or speak of them, they recall too much.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HAD HE SEEN A GHOST ? # 

At this time Jasper Harman was a very perplexed man. 
Unlike his brother John, he was untroubled by remorse. 
Though so outwardly good-tempered and good-natured, his 
old heart was very hard ; and though the arrows of past 
sins and past injustices might fly around him, they could 
not vi^it the inner shrine of that adamantine thing which he 
carried about instead of a heart of flesh within him. 

What the painful process must be which would restore to 
Jasper Harman the warm living heart of a little child, one 
must shudder even to contemplate. At present that process 
had not begun. But though he felt no remorse* whatever, 
and stigmatized his brother as an old fool, he had consider- 
able anxiety. 

There was an ugly secret in the back parts of these two 
brothers’ lives ; a secret which had seemed all these years 
safe and buried in the grave, but over which now little lights 
were beginning to pour. How could Jasper plaster up the 


8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


crevices and restore the thing to its silent grave ? Upon 
this problem he pondered from morning to night. 

He did not like that growing anxiety of his brother’s ; he 
could not tell to what mad act it would lead him ; he did 
not like a new look of fear which, since her father's fainting 
fit, he had seen on Charlotte’s smooth brow ; he did not like 
Mrs. Home coming and boldly declaring that an injustice had 
been done ; he felt that between them ihese foolish and 
miserable people would pull a disgraceful old secret out of 
its grave, unless he, Jasper Harman, cquld outwit them. 
What a blessing that that other trustee was dead and 
buried, and that he, Jasper Harman, had really stood over 
his grave. Yes, the secret which he and his brother had 
guarded so faithfully for over twenty years might remain for 
ever undiscovered if only common sense, the tiniest bit of 
common sense, was exercised. Jasper paced his room as he 
thought of this. Yes, there could be no fear, unless — here 
he stood still, and a cold dew of sudden terror stole over 
him — suppose that young woman, that wronged young woman, 
Charlotte Home, should take it into her head ro go and read 
her father’s will. The will could not be put away. For the 
small sum of one shilling she might go and master the con- 
' tents, and then the whole fraud would be laid bare. Was it 
likely that Mrs. Home would do this ? Jasper had only seen 
her for a moment, but during that brief glance he read deter- 
mination and fixity of purpose in her eyes and mouth. He 
must trust that this thought would not occur to her ; but 
what a miserable uncertainty this was to live in ! He did 
not know that the graver danger lay still nearer home, and 
that his own niece Charlotte was already putting the match 
to this mine full of gunpowder. No, clever as he thought 
himself, he was looking for the danger at the front door, 
when it was approaching him by the back. # 

After many days of most anxious thought he resolved to 
go and see the Homes, for something must be done, and he 
could feel his way better if he knew something of his' op- 
ponents. 

Getting Mr. Home’s address in the Post Office Directory, 
for he would not betray himself by questioning Charlotte, he 
started off ope evening to walk to Kentish Town. He ar- 
rived in the dusk, and by good fortune or otherwise, as he 
liked best to term it, the curate was at home, and so far dis- 
engaged as to be able to give him a little leisure time. 

Jasper sent in his card, and the little maid, Anne, showed 


HOW IT ALL CAME XOUA T I). lt g 

him into the small parlor. There was a musty, unused 
smell in the dingy little room, for Mrs. Home was still at 
Torqhay, and the curate during her absence mostly occupied 
his study. The maid, however, turned on the gas, and as 
she did so a small girl of four slipped in behind her. She 
was a very pretty child, with gray eyes and black eyelashes, 
and she stared in the full, frank manner of infancy at old 
Jasper. She was not a shy child, and felt so little fear of 
this good-natured, cherry-cheeked old man, that when Anne 
withdrew she still remained in the room. 

Jasper had a surface love for children ; he would not take 
any trouble about them, but they amused him, and he found 
pleasure in watching their unsophisticated ways. His good- 
natured, smiling face appealed to a certain part of Daisy 
Home, not a very high part certainly, but with the charming 
frankness of babyhood, the part appealed to gave utterance 
to its desire. 

“ Have ’ou brought me a present ? ” she demanded, run- 
ning up to old Jasper and laying her hand on his knee. 

“ No, my dear,” he replied quickly. “ I’m so sorry ; I 
forgot it.” 

“ Did ’ou ? ” said Daisy, puckering her pretty brows ; 
“ Then ’ou’re not like our pretty lady ; she did not forget ; 
she brought lots and lots and lots.” 

“I am very sorry,” replied Jasper; “I will think of it 
next time.” And then Mr. Home coming in, the two went 
into the little study. 

“I am your wife’s half-brother,” said Jasper, introducing 
himself without preface, for he had marked out his line of 
action before he came. 

“ Indeed ! ” replied Mr. Home. He was not a man easily 
surprised, but this announcement did bring a slight color into 
his face. “ You are Mr. Harman,” he repeated. “ I am 
sorry’ my wife is away. She is staying at Torquay with our 
eldest boy, who has been ill. She has seen your daughter.” 

“ Not my daughter, sir, my niece — a fine girl, but Quixotic, 
a little fanciful and apt to take up whims, but a fine girl for 
all that.” 

“I, too, have seen Miss Harman,” answered Mr. Home. 
“ I met her once in Regent’s Park, and, without knowing 
anything about us, she was good to our children. You must 
pardon me, sir, if in expressing the same opinion about her 
we come to it by different roads. It seems to me that the 


120 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


fine traits in Miss Harman’s character are due to her Quixotic 
or unworldly spirit.” 

For a moment Jasper Harman felt puzzled, then he 
chuckled inwardly. “ The man who says that, is unworldly 
himself, therefore unpractical. So much the better for my 
purpose.” Aloud he said, “ Doubtless you put the case best, 
sir ; but I will not take up your valuable time discussing my 
niece’s virtues. I have come to talk to you on a little matter 
of business. Your wife has told you her story ? ” 

“ My wife has certainly concealed nothing from me,” re- 
plied Mr Home. 

“ She has mentioned her father’s very curious will ? ” 

“ His very unjust will,” corrected Mr. Home. 

“ Yes, sir, I agree with you, it was unjust. It is to talk 
to you about that will I have come to you to-night.” 

“ Sit nearer to the fire,” replied Mr. Home, poking up 
the handful in the grate into as cheerful a blaze as circum- 
stances would permit. 

“ It was, as you say, an unjust will,” proceeded old Jasper, 
peering hard with his short-sighted eyes at the curate, and 
trying to read some emotion beneath his very grave exterior. 
Being unable to fathom the depths of a character which was 
absolutely above the love of money, he felt perplexed, he 
scarcely liked this great self-possession. Di&this Home know 
too much ? “ It was an unjust will,” he repeated, “ and took my 
brother and myself considerably by surprise. Our father 
seemed fond of his young wife, and we fully expected that he 
would leave her and her child well provided for. However, 
my dear sir, the facts could not be disputed. Her name 
was not mentioned at all. The entire property was left 
principally to my elder brother John. He and I were partners 
in business. Our father’s money was convenient, and en- 
abled us to grow rich. At the time our father died we were 
very struggling. Perhaps the fact that the money was so 
necessary to us just then made us think less of the widow 
than we should otherwise have done. We did not, however, 
forget her. We made provision for her during her life. But 
for us she must have starved or earned her own living.” 

“ The allowance you made was not very ample,” replied 
Mr. Home, “ and such as it was it ceased at her death.” 

“Yes, sir; and there I own we — my brother and I — were 
gutlty of an act of injustice. I can only exonerate us on the 
plea of want of thought. Our father’s widow was a young 
woman — younger than either of us. The child was but a baby. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


I 2 I 


The widow’s death seemed a very far off contingent. We 
placed the money, we had agreed to allow her the interest 
on, in the hands of our solicitor. We absolutely forgot the 
matter. I went to Australia, my brother grew old at home. 
When, five or six years ago, we heard that Mrs. Harman was 
dead, and that our three thousand pounds could return to us, 
we had absolutely forgotten the child. In this I own we 
showed sad neglect. Your wife’s visit to my niece, through 
a mere accident, has recalled her to our memory, and I come 
here to-night to say that we are willing, willing and anxious, 
to repay that neglect, and to settle on your wife the sum of 
three thousand pounds; that sum to be hers unconditionally, 
to do what she pleases with.” 

When Jasper ceased to speak, Mr. Home was quite silent 
for a moment, then he said, “ My wife is away at present. 
I would rather not trouble her with money matters during 
her short holiday. When she returns I will tell her what 
you say and communicate to you the result.” 

There was neither exultation nor annoyance in the quiet 
manner in which- these few words were spoken. Uncle Jas- 
per found it impossible to understand this man. He spoke 
as indifferently as if three thousand pounds were nothing to 
him and yet, to judge from appearances, his whole yearly 
income seemed hardly to represent the interest on so much 
capital. i.jfl this quiet manner but hide deep designs ? 
Jasper Harman fidgeted in his chair as this thought occurred 
to him. 

“ There is just one thing more to add,” he said. “ I will 
leave you my club address. Kindly communicate with me there 
I should like, while carrying out my elder brother’s wish, to 
act entirely on it without troubling him in .any way. He is, 
I am sorry to say, very ill, so ill that the least, the very least, 
agitation is dangerous to him. He feels with me the unin- 
tentional injustice done to your wife, but he cannot bear the 
subject alluded to. 

4< Would it not rather be an ease to his mind to feel that 
what he looks on and perhaps dwells on as a sin has been 
expiated, as far as his own earthly act can expiate it ? ” in- 
quired the clergyman gently. 

“ He shall know it, but from my lips. I should like him 
best to hear it from me,” said Jasper Harman. 

A few moments after, he went away, Mr. Home accom- 
panying him to the hall door. The strong light of the gas 
lamp fell on his ruddy face and sandy hair. He bade his 


122 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 


host good-bye, and hurried down the street, never observing 
that a man, much larger and much rougher than himself, 
was bearing down upon him. It was raining, and the large 
man had an umbrella up. The two came full tilt against 
each other. Jasper felt his breath taken away, and could 
only gasp out a word of remonstrance and apology. 

“ But the other, in a full, round, cheery voice, replied, 
“ I’m home from the Colonies, stranger — you need not men- 
tion a tiff like that to me. Bless you ! I guess you got the 
worst of it.” 

He passed on with a laugh, never noticing that he had 
left Jasper standing in the middle of the road, gasping in- 
deed now, but from a different cause. He put his hand to 
his heart. He felt his breath come too fast for comfort. 
What had come to him ? Had he seen a ghost ? 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE CHILDREN’S GREAT-UNCLE. 


It was a few days after this that, the morning being very 
bright and sunshiny, the little maid Anne, determined to 
give Daisy and the baby a long morning in the park. Mrs 
Home was expected back in a few days. Harold was very 
much better, and Anne, being a faithful and loving little soul, 
was extremely anxious that Daisy and the baby should show 
as rosy faces as possible to greet their mother’s return. 
Hinton, who still occupied the drawing-rooms, was absent as 
usual for the day. Mr. Home would not come in until tea 
time. So Anne, putting some dinner for the children and 
herself, in the back of the perambulator, and the house latch- 
key in her pocket, started off to have what she called to 
Daisy, a “ picnic in the park.” 

The baby was now nearly ten months old. His beauty 
had increased with his growing months, and many people 
turned to look at the lovely little fellow as Anne gayly 
wheeled him along. He had a great deal of hair, which 
showed in soft golden rings under his cap, and his eyes, 
large and gentle as a gazelle’s, looked calmly out of his in- 
nocent face. Daisy, too, was quite pretty enough to come 


HOlV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


in for her share of admiration, and Anne felt proud of both 
her little charges. 

Reaching the park, she wheeled the perambulator under 
the shade of a great tree, and sitting down herself on a bench, 
took little Angus in her arms. Daisy scampered about and 
inquired when her namesakes, the starry daisies of the field, 
would be there for her to gather. 

As the little child played and shouted with delight, and 
the baby and small maid looked on, a stout, florid-faced man 
of foreign appearance, passing slowly by, was attacted by the 
picturesque group. Daisy had flung off her shabby little hat. 
Her bright hair was . in wild confusion. Her gray eyes 
looked black beneath their dark lashes. Running full tilt 
across the stranger’s path, she suddenly stumbled and fell. 
He stooped to pick her up. She hardly thanked him, but 
flew back to Anne. The foreign-looking man, however, 
stood still. Daisy’s piquant little face had caused him to 
start and change color. 

“ Good gracious ! what a likeness,” he exclaimed, and he 
turned and sat down on the bench beside Anne and the 
baby. 

“ I hope the little thing didn’t get hurt by that fall,” he 
said to the small maid. 

Anne, who was accustomed to having afl admiration 
bestowed on her baby, replied briefly that missy was right 
enough. As she spoke she turned baby Angus round so 
that the stranger might see his radiant little face. The dark 
eyes, however, of the pretty boy had no attraction for the 
man. He still watched Daisy, who had resumed her amuse- 
ments at a little distance. 

Anne, who perceived that Daisy had attracted the 
stranger’s admiration, was determined to stay to watch the 
play out. She pretended to amuse little Angus, but her 
eyes took furtive glances at the foreign-looking man. Pres- 
ently Daisy, who was not at all shy, came up. 

“ You never thanked me for picking you up from the 
ground,” said the stranger to the little girl. 

Four year old Daisy turned up her eyes to his face. 

“ I wor so busy,” she apologized. “ T’ank ’ou now.” 

The light on her face, her very expression, caused this 
rough-looking man’s heart to beat strangely. He held out 
his hand. Daisy put her soft little palm into his. 

“ Come and sit on my knee,” he said. 

Daisy accepted the invitation with alacrity. She dearly 


124 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


liked attention, and it was not often, with baby by, that she 
came in for the lion’s share. 

fi What a funny red beard you have ! ” she said, putting 
up a small finger to touch it delicately. 

This action, however, scandalized Anne, who, awaking to 
a sudden sense of her responsibilities, rose to depart. 

“ Come along, Miss Daisy,” she exclaimed'; “ ’tis time 
we was a-moving home, and you mustn’ t trouble the gentle- 
man no further, missy.” 

“ I s’ant go home, and I will stay,” responded Daisy, her 
face growing very red as she clung to her new friend. The 
man put his arm round her in delight. 

“ Sit down, my girl,” he said, addressing Anne, “ the little 
miss is not troubling me. Quite the contrary, she’ reminds 
me of a little lassie I used to know once, and she had the 
same name too, Daisy. Daisy Wilson was her name. Now 
this little kid is so like her that I shouldn’t a bit wonder if 
she was a relation — perhaps her daughter. Shall I tell you 
what your two names are, little one ? ” 

Daisy nodded her head and looked up expectantly. 
Anne, hoping no harm was done, and devoured with curiosity, 
resumed her seat. 

“ Your mamma’s name was Daisy Wilson. You are her 
dear little daughter, and your name is Daisy Harman. Well, 
I’m right, ain’t I ? ” The man’s face was now crimson, and 
he only waited for Daisy’s reply to clasp her to; his breast. 
But Daisy, in high delight at his mistake, clapped her pretty 
hands. - ^ 

“ No, no,” she said, “ you’re quite wrong. Guess again, 
guess again.” 

Instantly his interest and excitement died out. He 
pushed the child a trifle away, and said, — 

“ I made a mistake. I can’t guess.” 

“ I’m Daisy Home,” replied Daisy, “ and my mamma 
was never no Daisy Wilson. Her name is Sarlotte Home.” 

The stranger put Daisy gently from his lap, and the dis- 
covery which was to affect so many people might never have 
been made but for Anne, who read the Family He7ald, was 
burning with anxiety and wonder. Many kinds of visions 
were flashing before her romantic young eyes. This man 
might be very rich — very, very rich. He must have some- 
thing to say to them all. She had long ago identified her- 
self with the Home family. This man was coming to give 
them gold in abundance. He was not so beautiful to look 


I/O IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


l2 5 

at, but he might be just as valuable as the pretty lady of 
Harold’s dreams. That pretty lady had not come back, 
though Anne had almost prayed for her return. Yes, she 
was sure this man was ar relation. It was highly probable. 
Such things were always happening in the Family Herald ’ 
Raising her shrill, high-pitched voice, she exclaimed,— 

“ Miss Daisy, you’re too young to know, or may be you 
furgets. But I think the gen’leman is near right. Yer 
mamma’s name wos Harman afore she married yer papa, 
missy, and I ha’ seen fur sure and certain in some old books 
at the house the name o’ Daisy Wilson writ down as plain 
as could be, so maybe that wor yer grandma’s name afore 
she married too.” 

All these words the stranger caught Daisy up and kissed 
her. 

“ I thought that little face could only belong to one 
related to Daisy Wilson,” he said. “ Little one, put yer 
arms round me. I’m your great-uncle — your great-uncle ! I 
never thought that Daisy Wilson could have a daughter 
married, and that that daughter could have little ones of her 
own. Well, well, well, how time does fly ! I’m your grand- 
mother’s brother — Sandy Wilson, home from Australia, my 
little pet ; and when shall I see you all ? It does my old 
heart good to see my sister over again in a little thing like 
you.” 

“ My great-uncle ? ” repeated Daisy. She was an affec- 
tionate little thing, and the man’s agitation and delight so 
far touched her baby heart' as to induce her to give him one 
very slight, dainty kiss. Then she sidled down to the 
ground. 

" Ef you please, sir,” said Anne again, who felt abso- 
lutely certain that she had now made the fortune of her 
family, and who thought that that fact ought to be recog- 
nised — “ ef you please, sir, ’tis but right as you should know 
as my missis’s mother have long bin dead. My missis as is 
her living model is away, and won’t be back afore Thursday. 
She’s down by the seaside wid Master Harold wot’ ad the 
scarlet fever, and wor like to die ; and the fam’ly address, 
please sir, is io, Tremins Road, Kentish Town.” 

At the news of his sister’s death so curtly announced by 
Anne, the man’s rough, weatherbeaten face grew white. He 
did not touch Daisy again, or even look at little Angus ; but 
going up to Anne, lie slipped a sovereign into her hand. 

“ Take those children safely home now,” he said ; “ the 


126 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


day is turning chilly, and — and — thank you for what you told 
me of, my good lass. I’ll come and see your missis on 
Thursday night.” 

Then, without another word, he hurried away. 

Quickly this big, rough man, who had nearly knocked 
down Jasper Harman the night before, hurried through the 
park. The exultation had died out of his face ; his heart 
had ceased to beat wildly. Little Daisy’s pretty figure was still 
before his eyes ; but, weatherbeaten and lifebeaten man that 
he was, he found himself looking at it through a mist of tears. 
“ ’Tis a bit of a shock,” he said to himself. “I’ll take it quietly, 
of course. Sandy Wilson learned long ago to take everything 
quietly ; but it’s a rare bit of a shock. I never guessed as 
my little Daisy would die. Five and twenty years since we 
met, and all that time I’ve never once clasped the hand of a 
blood-relation — never had one belonging to me. I thought 
I was coming back to Daisy, and Daisy has died. She was 
very young to die — quite five years younger than me. A 
pretty, pretty lass ; the little ’un is her image. How odd I 
should have knocked up against Daisy’s grandchild, and 
should find her out by the likeness. Well, well, I’ll call at 
io, Tremins Road. I’ll call, of course ; not that I care 
much now, as my little sister Daisy Wilson is dead.” 

He pressed lfis hand before his eyes ; they felt weak and 
dim. The rough man had got a considerable shock he did not 
care to look at London sights again to-day ; he returned to the 
Commercial Hotel in the Strand, where for the present he 
was staying. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

CUT OFF WITH A- SHILLING. 

Never was a little maid-of-all-work more' excited than 
Anne on the night on which her mistress was expected home 
from Torquay. A secret — quite a great secret — had been 
burning a hole in her heart ever since Monday, and to-night 
she expected this secret to result in something grand. Anne 
felt that the days of poverty for the family were over ; the 
days for scraping and toiling were at an end. The uncle 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


127 


from Australia would give her missis everything that money 
could buy ; he must be a very rich man indeed, for had he 
not given her a sovereign ? Whoever before had even 
dreamed of giving little hard-worked Anne a sovereign ? It 
meant unheard-of wealth to this childish soul of sixteen ; it 
filled her with delight, and, carefully put away in a littte 
gingham bag, it lay golden and warm now against her heart. 

But Anne’s honest little heart had another and less selfish 
cause for rejoicing. It was she yho was bringing this uncle 
and niece to meet again ; but for her prompt interference 
Daisy and her great-uncle would never have discovered their 
relationship ; but for her the uncle, so blessed with riches, 
would not have known where to seek for his niece. In a 
big place like London was- it likely, was it at all likely, that 
they would meet ? No, no, he would look for his'poor dead 
sister for a little while, and then go back to Australia, and 
perhaps^ give his money to some one else. Anne felt that 
the family owed her a great deal; but she had full confi 
dence in them, and felt sure that in their rise in' life they 
would not forget her. Missis could keep plenty of servants 
now ; she would have a cook and a housemaid, and probably 
some" one to help in the nursery. This was what a family 
whom Anne thought immensely wealthy, did in a house 
just round the corner. In that case she, Anne, would be 
promoted to the proud position of head nurse — head nurse 
with wages — well, say wages as high as £13 a year. Even 
to think of being raised to so dazzling a height made Anne’s 
head a trifle giddy. On the strength of it, and all the riches 
in prospect, she became quite reckless in preparing missis’s 
tea. She put out the best table-linen, and all the silver the 
house possessed, and she filled a great dish with water- 
cresses, and had hot buttered scones and a seed-cake and 
eggs — rather fresh for London — and finally half a pound of 
sliced ham. 

She was standing contemplating her well-laden board 
when the cab drove up, and out stepped her master and 
mistress and little Harold — Harold looking white and thin 
even yet, but still with an altogether improved expression on 
his little face. Anne was so excited, knowing all that was 
to come, that she caught Harold up in her arms and kissed 
him, which proceeding he bore with more patience than 
appreciation. Then ensued bustle and confusion and pleas- 
ant excitement. Charlotte Home felt so well and rested 
from her change, her husband was so delighted to have her 


128 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


back, and little Harold was so manifestly better, that Anne 
flew about nearly wild with delight. “They’ll be a deal, 
deal ’appier by-and-by, and ’tis hall’long of HAnne,” she 
kept whispering to herself. 

And now, tea being over, and Harold tucked up comfort- 
ably once more in his own little cot in the nursery, the small 
maid began to be devoured with impatience for the expected 
ring. It came at last ; Anne with her own hands unfastened 
the door, showed the rich unde into the dining-room, and 
danced upstairs to find her mistress. Charlotte Home was 
unpacking a trunk in her own room. 

“ What do you say, Anne ? A gentleman is downstairs, 
and wants to see me ? But I am so dreadfully busy. What 
does he want ? Do you think he has come about the 
drawing-rooms ? They will be vacant next week.” 

“ I don’t think ’tis about the drawing-rooms, ’em,” 
answered Anne as demurely as she could speak. “ I ’avent 
put no card hup yet. Please, ’em, he looks a most benevo- 
lent gen’leman, and he axed fur you, yer hown self, ’em, 
most partic’lar bad.” 

“ I wish he had not come this evening, everything is in 
such confusion. Anne, are you sure your master is out ? ” 

“ Yes, ’em, sure and certain ; and ef you please, ’em, it 
wor fur you as the strange gen’leman axed.” 

“ Well, I suppose I must go down. He may have heard 
of the drawing-rooms through Mr. Hinton, and it would not 
do to lose a good lodger.” 

Charlotte went to the looking-glass to smooth her hair. 
She felt travelled-stained and dusty ; she was only a worn, 
pale-looking woman at the best of times. . She ran down- 
stairs, and Anne’s heart beat as she heard the dining-room 
door shut behind her. 

Mr. Wilson — Sandy Wilson as he preferred to be called — 
had got himself up with due care for his interview with his 
niece. He had a perfectly new and shining broadcloth suit 
on, a diamond pin was in his necktie, and a very massive 
gold chain could be seen dangling from his vest pocket. His 
full face, always florid, was now flushed with extra color from 
agitation. Yes, Daisy might be dead, but the next best 
thing was to see Daisy’s child. When the door opened he 
came forward eagerly, with outstretched hands. A pale, 
slight, cold-looking woman had come in. He drew back in 
dismay. She showed but too plainly by one swift glance 
that she thought him a stranger, and a vulgar one, He 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


129 

owned to himself that he looked at her with a kind of shock. 
This Daisy Wilson’s Daughter ? This pale, dark, thin 
woman the child of that little, bright, curly-locked, golden- 
headed sister, whose face was as the sun, whose gay, rounded 
figure he had seen flitting before his eyes during all the 
weary years of his exile ? It could scarcely be possible. 
Perhaps it was not possible ? 

“ I have come to see Mrs. Home,” he began. 

“And I am Mrs. Home,” answered the distinct, quiet 
voice. 

No, there was no hope ; his Daisy’s daughter was not in 
the least like her. Well, she was at least her child. He 
must take what comfort he could out of the relationship 
without the likeness. 

“ You are Daisy’s Wilson’s child ? ” he said, and now 
again his hands were outstretched, and the smiles had 
returned to his face.” 

But Mrs. Home, completely in the dark, rather startled 
than otherwise, made no gesture of welcome. Her hands 
were not held out, her lips remained unsmiling. 

“ My mother’s name was Wilson,” she admitted. “ Yes, 
it was Daisy Wilson. I did not recognize it at first, as of course 
she was never called it to me.” 

“ Ay, ay, likely enough ; but she was never anything else 
to me, just always little bright Daisy Wilson. I thought I’d 
find her before me, something as she used to be, a bit stout- 
ened, perhaps, but not greatly altered. I have pictured her 
fbr the last six and twenty years just as I saw her last, the 
bonniest bit of a thing the sitfi ever shone on,” 

“ You knew my mother thert ? ” said Charlotte. 

“ Knew her, lass, knew her ! good heavens, what next ? 
Did Daisy never speak to you about me ? I don’t believe 
it. Befqre I left it was “ Sandy, Sandy,’ from morning to 
night. It was not in her to forget. Tell me, lass, did you 
never hear of your mother’s big brother, Sandy Wilson who 
went to Australia ? ” 

Charlotte’s eyes began to dilate. 

“ My mother often spoke of this brother,” she said slowly. 
“ My mother would have liked to have met you, had you 
known him. She never fretted for any one so much, except 
when my father died. My mother’s brother is dead for many, 
many years. They are together now.” 

“ In spirit, lass, in spirit, I doubt not, but not otherwise. 
Why, is it possible yoii don’t know me ? Aren’t you pre- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


130 

pared ? Did not your little lass tell you ? I am your 
mother’s brother, I am alive, as you see; I am Sandy 
Wilson.” 

“ You ! ” Charlotte looked at him half incredulous, half 
pained; but then a sudden joy came over her, she forgot the 
vulgarity in the love for her dead mother which still shone 
out of those honest blue eyes. She glanced up again ; those 
eyes were her mother’s eyes ; instantly they acted as open 
sehame to her heart, She held out her own hands now and 
her eyes filled with tears. “Forgive me, Uncle Sandy; if' 
you are indeed he. I did not know you, I could not know 
you ; I have believed you dead for many, many years. But 
you have a look of my mother. She would welcome you to- 
night, so I must in her name.” 

“ Will you kiss me in her name, my lassie ? Ah ! that’s 
good; ’tis long since I kissed one of my own. Yes, I’ve 
come back. I never did die, you see, though I knew that the 
report had reached England. I let it be, I did not trouble 
to contradict it.” 

“ But it was wrong of you, Uncle Sandy. You said you 
loved my mother, and that report of your death gave her 
terrible pain.” 

“ I am sorry for it, lass ; I never guessed about the pain, 
though I might have thought of it, sweet soul ; but I knew 
she was married to a very rich man. I was poor, so poor as 
to know what hunger meant, I thought she could do without 
me. I went up into the bush and stayed there until I had 
made my fortune. After a time I got accustomed to know- 
ing that every one in England would think me dead. I used 
to laugh in my sleeve at the surprise I meant to give Daisy 
when I walked in -rich some day. Well, well, what an old 
fool I made of myself ! I never once thought of her dying. 
She is dead, and I am left ; there’s no one to welcome me 
back, after all.” 

“ She has been dead for over six years now ; but come to 
the fire, uncle. I welcome you in my mother’s name, and 
my children will love you. Now you must sit there and I 
will ring for Anne to bring in some tea.” 

After this the uncle and niece talked together for some 
time. Anne brought in the tea, and looked at them with 
eyes rendered round and large from excitement. They both 
nodded to her, for both felt pleased. Uncle Sandy had ; 
discovered that his niece had a voice like her mother, if not 


tto IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


* 3 * 

a face. It was delicious to him to sit so close to his own 
flesh and blood, and Charlotte, who had heard of Uncle 
Sandy during all her early days, who had seen her mother’s 
eyes filling with tears when she mentioned him, felt now that 
for her mother’s sake she could not make enough of this 
newly recovered relation. His rough, honest, kindly nature 
was finding its way too, very straight, to her heart. There 
was nothing innately common or vulgar about Uncle Sandy. 
Charlotte was a keen observer of character, and she detected 
the ring of the true metal within. 

“ To think I should have mistaken my uncle for some 
one going to see after the drawing-rooms ! ” she said after a 
pausQ. 

“ Ay, lass, you looked fairly dazed when I came up with 
my hand stretched out, hoping for a kiss,” he said ; “ but no 
wonder : I never reckoned that that little maid-servant of 
yours would have told you nothing — nothing whatever. But 
what is that about drawing-rooms ? You don’t mean to tell 
me that you, Daisy Wilson’s child, let lodgings ? ” 

The color flew into Charlotte’s pale, proud face. 

“ We do not need all the room in this house, so I generally 
have some one in the drawing-room,” she answered — “ the 
drawing-room and the bedroom beyond. 

“ Are your rooms free, now, Charlotte ? ” 

“ No ; but in a week they will be.” 

“ Suppose you let the old uncle have them ? I will pay 
any rent you like to ask. The fact is, I have lost my whole 
heart to that little Daisy of yours. I want to be near the 
child. I won’t spoil her more than I can help.” 

“Then I was called down to my drawing-room lodger,” 
answered Charlotte with a faint sweet smile. 

“Yes, and I don’t expect he will want to leave in a hurry. 
The fact is I have been so utterly friendless and homeless 
for such a number of years, that it \s?iearly as good as finding 
Daisy to be with her child. But, my dear lass, you will for- 
give a frank old man asking you a frank question. It’s all 
moonshine about the house being too big for you. These 
houses are not so very monstrous, to judge by the looks of 
them. You have three children, so you tell me ; if you let 
two rooms you must be a bit crippled, put as good a face on 
it as you will.” 

“ We also want the money. The want of the help this 
brings in, in the matter of rent, is our true reason for letting/’ 
replied Charlotte. “ You see, Uncle Sandy, my husband is 


I 3 2 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


a clergyman — a clergyman and curate. Such men are never 
over-burdened with money.” 

Sandy Wilson had small, penetrating, but very bright 
blue eyes ; they were fixed now earnestly on his niece. He 
took a glance round the little parlor where they sat. He was 
an old Australian, accustomed to bush life, but even he 
noticed how threadbare was the carpet, how poor and meagre 
the jvindow curtains. Charlotte herself, too, how thin and 
worn she was ! Could those pale and hollow cheeks mean 
insufficient food ? 

“ How old are you, niece Charlotte ? ” he suddenly de- 
manded. 

“ I was twenty-five my last birthday.” 

“ Forgive me, my lass, you look very old for that ; I 
should have taken you for thirty. The fact is you are poor, 
nothing ages like poverty. And the greater fact remains 
that it was full time for old Uncle Sandy to come home and 
prove himself of some use in the world.” 

“We are poor,” answered Charlotte; “we certainly are 
very poor. But poverty is not the greatest of troubles.” 

“ No, but it puzzles me why you should be poor. When 
I left my little sister, she had been married about three 
months to that rich old Mr. Harman. He seemed devoted 
to her. He had surrounded herwith wealth ; and he assured 
me when I came to bid her good-bye, and she put her dear 
arms round my neck, that my little darling should never 
want for anything. He was a good old man, ages too old of 
course for my bright little Daisy. But it seemed better than 
leaving her as a governess-. It was my one comfort when 
parting with Daisy, to feel that she could never want for 
anything that money could get her.” 

“ My mother has told me that during my father’s life she 
lived as a rich woman,” answered Charlotte. 

“ That means she did not afterwards. Did the old gentle- 
man die bankrupt ? I don’t see how he could, for he had 
retired from business.” 

“ No, my father died a very wealthy man.” 

“ Then he did not leave her well off ! You don’t surely 
mean to tell me, Charlotte Home, that that old man dared to 
do anything but leave a large sum of money to your pretty 
young mother and to you ? Why, he told me with his own 
lips that he would make most ample provision for her.” 

At these words Charlotte’s white face grew yet whiter, 


NO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*33 

and a piteous look of terror came into her eyes, but all she 
said was, — 

“ Nevertheless, after my father’s death we were poor.” 

“ Oh ! the scoundrel ! Tis well he’s out of Sandy Wilson’s 
power. To think of my Daisy not profiting by his wealth at 
least. How much did he leave to your mother, Charlotte ? 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Nothing ! ” Here Uncle Sandy sprang to his feet. “ Mr. 
Harman left my Daisy nothing — nothing whatever ! Then he 
did die bankrupt ? 

“ No, Uncle Sandy, he died rich.” 

“ And her name was not mentioned in the will ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Ah ! there was a will. Have you seen it ? ” 

“ No ; why should I ? It all happened long, long ago.” 

“ And your mother never saw the will ? ” 

“ I don’t think she did.” 

“ Then to whom, may I ask, did he leave all his wealth ?” 

“ You forget, Uncle Sandy, that my father was married 
before. He had two sons by his first marriage. These sons 
came in for his fortune. They were — they said they were, 
sorry for my mother, and they settled on her one hundred 
and fifty pounds a year for her life.” 

“ Ay, I suppose you have got that pittance now ? ” 

“ No, it was only for my mother. When she died six 
years ago it ceased.” 

Sandy Wilson began to pace up and down the little 
parlor. 

“Nothing left to Daisy. Daisy’s name not mentioned in 
the will. Brothers sorry — pretend to be. Give my Daisy a 
pittance for her life — nothing to the child. Charlotte,” he 
suddenly stopped in front of his niece, “ don’t you think you 
are a good bit of a fool ? ” 

“ Perhaps I am, Uncle Sandy. But I never recognized 
the fact before.” 

“You believe that story about the will?” 

“ I tell you the tale as my own mother told it to me.” 

“ Ay, Daisy was' always too credulous, a foolish little thing, 
if you like. But you — you are of different metal. You believe 
that story ? ” 

“ I — I Don’t ask me, Uncle Sandy.” 

“ You do not believe it ? ” 

“ If you will have it so, I do not believe it.” 

“ Ay, my lass, shake hands on that. You are not a fool, 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*34 

Oh ! it was full time Sandy Wilson came home. Sandy cari 
see to your rights, late as it is in the day.” 

Mrs. Home was silent. The old Australian was stamping 
his feet on the hearthrug. His face was now crimson from 
excitement and anger. 

“ Charlotte,” he repeated, “ why don’t you speak to me ? 

I have come back to see to your rights. Do you hear me, 
niece ? ” 

Charlotte put her hand into his. 

“ Thank you, Uncle Sandy.” Then she added, “ You can 
do nothing. I mean you can take no legal steps without my 
knowledge and sanction.” 

“ Well, it is not likely you will withhold your sanction 
from getting back what is your own. Charlotte, where are 
these half-brothers of yours ? Why, they were a good bit 
older than Daisy. They must be old men now. Where are 
they, Charlotte ? Are they alive ? ” 

“ They are alive. I will tell you about them to-morrow. 

I want to think to-night.” 

“ And so do I want to think. I will run away now, my 
dear niece. I am staggered by this tale, perfectly staggered. 

I will look in to-morrow evening, and you shall tell me more. 
Ay, I guess they never reckoned that Sandy Wilson would 
turn up. They thought with the rest of you that old Sandy 
— sharp old Sandy was safe in his grave, and they said to 
themselves that dead men tell no tales. If I remember 
aright, your father told me I should be one of the trustees to 
my sister. He did mention it ; though, just like me, I never 
thought of it until this minute. Is it likely that he would 
speak of trustees if he meant to cut off that poor darling 
with a shilling ? Oh ! it’s preposterous, preposterous. But 
I’ll sleep over it. We’ll think how -best to expose the 
villains ! ” 

“ Uncle Sandy, you will promise me one thing : you will 
do nothing until you see me again ? ” 

“ Well, child, I can scarcely do much. I don’t want to 
be long away from you, niece Charlotte. I’ll look in to- 
morrow, about six o’clock. See that little Daisy is up, and 
introduce me to your husband. Oh ! it was plain to be seen 
that Sandy Wilson was wanting in this country. Bless my 
old heart, what a Providence is over everything! Oh, the 
scoundrels ! But Sandy will expose them. My Daisy cut 
off with a shilling ! ” 


MOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


I 


*35 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“something better for the children than money.” 

After her newly found uncle had left her, Charlotte 
Home sat on by the fire ; her face was very pale ; she looked 
a quite broken-down and troubled woman. Little Anne, al- 
most Qn tiptoe, crept into the room. She was all quivering 
with excitement. She expected her mistress to turn to her 
— almost to fling her arms around her neck — to thank her 
with the warmest expressions for what she had done. 

“ Anne,” rehearsed the little maid, imaginingCharlotte’s 
words, “ you have saved us all ; you are our lifelong bene- 
factor. Henceforth partake of our wealth. Be not only our 
servant, but our friend.” 

This was how matters would have been managed in the 
Family Herald. Anne raised expectant eyes to her mistress’s 
face, but one glance at it scattered her golden visions. She 
softly lifted up the teatray and withdrew. Her faith and 
hope had gone down to zero. She was a very dispirited 
little girl as she returned to her kitchen. That uncle from 
Australia was not a rich uncle. Missis would never look 
so miserable if he was rich. As a poor relation he was no 
use whatever ; and Anne had done ( nothing for the family 
she loved. Oh, how very disappointing life was after all ! 

Meanwhile what now troubled Charlotte Home had very 
little to do with Uncle Sandy’s possible gold. She was solv- 
ing another problem, and the task was' a difficult one. 

For^ the past month Charlotte^had been making up her 
mind to a certain line of action. Before she left Torquay 
her resolution was formed. , She had been over four weeks 
there, and during those four weeks she and her boy had 
lived on Charlotte Harman’s money. That money had saved 
the life of her child. When she first saw it and thanked for it, 
and each succeeding day, each succeeding hour, as- she saw 
the color which was health, and the appetite which was life, 
returning to her darling, the conviction was growing upon 
her, that her hand could never inflict a blow upon the woman 
who had done so much for her. Her children wanted 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


136 

money, and her husband wanted money, and she herself 
too ! A little dip into this world’s softnesses, she owned, 
would be very pleasant ; but, for all that, her hand must be 
still ; her lips could not speak to cause pain and agony to 
one who had done so much for her. Miss Harman was go- 
ing to be married. Was it possible that on the eve of her 
marriage she, Charlotte Home, could deal to her so cruel a 
blow? No, it was not possible. For Charlotte’s sake, her 
father and uncle might keep their ill-gotten wealth. Mrs. 
Home believed more and more firmly that she and hers 
were robbed of their money. But now she could do nothing. 
She had been so treated by her enemy’s daughter that to 
appear against that daughter’s father would be impossible. 
As this conviction came to her, and she resolved to act upon 
it, and to let all chance of recovering her lost wealth go, a 
wonderful peace-and calm stole over her. She almost used 
to fancy she heard the voice of God saying to her, — 

“ I will provide for your children, I can give them riches. 
There are better things to be won for those little ones than 
what money can give. There is such a thing as a heavy 
purse and a poor and empty heart. Suppose I fill those 
hearts with goodness, and greatness, and generosity, and 
love ; is not that a better portion for these creatures who are 
to live for all eternity than the gold which lasts only for a 
time ? ” 

Yes, Charlotte felt that it was a better portion. And 
such peace and contentment came to this woman during the 
last week at Torquay that she thought it the happiest week of 
her whole life. But now — now she sat by her own hearth in 
troubled maze. She had come back to find her resolve sorely 
shaken. With no one to help her, she had resolved to let her 
chance of riches go. She came back to find an unexpected 
deliverer come to her. A strong, brave, practical man had ap- 
peared. This man was her own uncle — her beloved mother’s 
brother. He knew how to act. While she alone must stumble 
in the dark, he would know what to do. He would — he could 
get her back her own. It seemed hard to reject such help ; 
and yet her resolve was scarcely shaken, and the temptation, 
though severe, was not allowed to prevail. The voice of 
God was still talking to the jyoman, and she was not turn- 
ing from Him. 

Since the life of her child had been given back to her, a 
great softness and sweetness had come to Mrs. Home ; she 
had tasted of a mother’s bitterest cup, but God had not 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


137 

asked her to drink it to the dregs. Her dark eyes, always 
beautiful, had now grown very lovely, being filled with a 
tenderness which not only took in her own child, but, for his 
sake, all the other children in the world. 

Yes, Charlotte loved God as she had never loved- Him 
before, and it was becoming impossible for her to do that 
which might pain Him. After a time her husband came in, 
and the two sat and talked for some time. They had a great 
deal to say, and the hours flew on as each poured out a full 
heart to the other. 

After a time Charlotte told of her visit from the uncle 
whom she had supposed for so many years to be dead. Mr. 
Home was interested, and asked many questions. Charlotte 
repeated, almost word for word, what Uncle Sandy had said. 
Her husband regarded her attentively. After a time he 
spoke. 

“ Lottie, you remember when first you told me that queer 
story about your father’s will ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said. 

“ I own I did not believe it ; I own I thought very little 
about it. I ask your pardon, my dear. I now believe you 
are right.” 

“ Oh, Angus ! ” a great flood of color came up to her 
face. “Oh! why,” she added in a voice of pain, “why do 
you say this to me now ? ” 

“ Partly from what your uncle said to-night ; partly for 
another reason. The fact is, my dear wife, while you were 
away I had a visit from your half-brother, Mr. Jasper Har- 
man.” 

“ Angus ! ” 

“ Yes, he came here one evening. He told a tale, and 
he made a proposition. His tale was a lame one ; his 
proposition scarcely came well from his lips. He evidently 
thought of me as of one unworldly and unpractical. _ I be- 
lieve I am unpractical, but he never guessed that in my 
capacity as clergyman I have had much to do with sinners. 
This man has a conscience by no means void of offence. He 
is hardened. Charlotte, when I saw him, I instantly believed 

your story.” . 

Mr. Home then told his wife the whole of his interview 
with Jasper Harman, and the proposal he had made to 
settle on Charlotte and on her children the three thousand 
pounds which had been her mother’s for that mother s life- 
time, 


hoW' it All cam£ round . 


«38 

“ I gave him no answer, my Lottie, ” he said in conclu- 
sion. “ I told him you were away — that I would tell you all 
on your return.” 

“ Then the decision is to rest with me, Angus ? ” 

“ Yes, I think it must.” 

“ You do not mind whether I decline or accept ? ” 

“ I trust you absolutely. You shall do as you think 
best.” 

After this Mrs. Home was silent for a moment or two ; 
then she got up, went on her knees by her husband’s side, 
•and laying her head against his breast, said, — 

“We will be poor, my darling — poor and blessed. I 'will 
not touch their gold.” 

“ My Lottie ! ” he answered. He did not quite understand 
her, but his heart began to beat. 

“ I will tell you all in a few words, Angus. I longed for 
money — be my reason base or noble, I longed for money. A 
month ago how sorely we needed it ! God saw our need and 
sent it to us. He sent it through a channel and by a means 
which tried my proud heart. I accepted the gracious boon, 
and, when I accepted it, instantly I loved the giver ; I loved 
—I love Charlotte Harman. She is innocent of all wrong. 
Angus, I cannot disturb her peace. My uncle has come 
home. My uncle, with his knowledge and his worldly skill, 
could now win my cause for me, ajjd get back for me and 
mine what is ours. I will not let him. These old 
men may keep their ill-gotten wealth, for I cannot 
break the daughter’s heart. I made my resolve at Tor- 
quay, Angus ; and, though I own I have been tempted to- 
_ night — yes, I believe I have been tempted — still I must let 
this money go. I will leave those wicked men to God ; but 
I cannot take their punishment into my own hands. And, 
Angus, dearest, neither can I take that small sum of money ; 
for, though I cannot prosecute, neither can I accept a bribe. 
This money comes as a bribe. Is it not so ? ” 

“Yes, Lottie, I fear it is so.” 

“ I am right not to take it ? ” 

“ You are absolutely right.” 

“ Then we will not touch it. I and mine can live with- 
out it.” 

“ You and yours can live well and nobly without it, my 
most precious wife.” 

“ Ah ! there is rest and peace in my heart • and the little 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


x 39 

house, though so poor and shabby, seems very home-like. 
Angus, I am so tired after all this ! I will go to bed.” 

Long after his wife had left him, the husband remained 
up. He had gone down on his knees, and he remained 
there for some hours. He had to thank God for his Char- 
lotte, but even while he thanked a weight was heavy on his 
heart. Sin was very terrible to this man, and he feared that 
a very grievous sin had been committed. Long, long, into 
the night he cried to God for these sinners. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SHE COULD NOT POSTPONE HER ENGAGEMENT. 

Mr. Harman felt himself growing weaker and weaker. 
The disease which was to lay him in his grave was making 
slow, but steady progress. It was just possible that, had his 
mind been at rest, the weakness of body, the pain of body, 
the slow decay might have been, not removed, but at least 
arrested. Had Mr. Harman been a very happy man, he 
might have lived, even with so fatal a malady, for many 
years. He had lived a life of almost perfect physical health 
for over sixty years, and during all that time he had been 
able to keep mental pains at bay ; but in his present weak- 
ness he found this impossible. His whole nervous system 
became affected, and it was apparent even to his daughter’s 
eyes, that he was a very unhappy man. For her sake, how- 
ever, he still did wonders. He dragged himself up to break- 
fast morning after morning, when he would have given worlds 
to remain in bed. He still went every day to his office in 
the city, though, when there, he sat in his office chair dull 
and unmindful of what was going on. Jasper did the work. 
Jasper was here, there, and everywhere ; but it had come to 
such a pass with John Harman, that he now almost disliked 
gold. Still, for Charlotte’s sake, he went there. Charlotte 
on the verge of her marriage must suspect nothing. In 
the evenings he sat with his daughter, he looked with appar- 
ent interest at the many presents which came pouring in, he 
made her show herself to him in each of the new dresses, 
and he even went himself with her to choose her wedding 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


140 

wreath and veil. But all these things had become such a 
weariness to the man that, dearly as he loved this one pre- 
cious daughter, he began to look forward with almost a sense 
of relief to the one week of her absence. During that week 
he need disguise nothing, he need not go to the Office, he 
need not put on this forced cheerfulness. He might stay in 
bed all day long if he pleased. 

That week was near now, for it was the twelfth of April. 
In another eight days the wedding morning would dawn. 

Charlotte was very busy. What young woman is not busy 
at such a time ? Friends poured in, presents arrived at all 
hours. There were dressmakers and milliners to see ancj 
consult, from morning to night. Then Hinton took up some 
of his bride elect’s time, and the evening hours were given 
to her father. Seeing how much he liked having her all to 
himself after dinner each night, Charlotte had begged her 
lover not to come to see her at this particular time. 

“You will have me for all the rest of my life, John,” she 
would say, “ and I think it does my father good to be quite 
alone with me. It reminds him of old times.” Then, when 
Hinton acceded to her request, she often added, “ My father 
puzzles me. Is it the parting from me makes him look so ill 
and sad ? I often fear that there is more the matter with 
him than he lets appear. I wish he would consult a good 
doctor.” 

Hinton dared not tell her that he had consulted the very 
best. He could only try to turn her attention, and in this 
he believed that he succeeded much better than he really did. 
For when the night came after those quiet evenings, Char- 
lotte found that she could not sleep. Was it excitement at 
her coming happiness, or was it anxiety ? 

Anxiety was new to this happy nature — new to this pros- 
perous life. She shuddered at the grim thing, as it visited 
her night after night, in the solitude of her luxurious room. 
But shut her eyes to it, fight against it, as she would, it could 
not be got to depart from her. The fact was, a dreadful 
thing had happened to this frank and loving nature, she was 
beginning to suspect the father whom she loved. These sus- 
picions had first come into play on the night when he had 
fainted in her presence. Some words he had used that night, 
some expressions which had fallen from his lips, had aroused 
a new and dreadful thought , that thought would not go to 
sleep, would not depart. Was it possible that her father 
had done something wrong long ago in his life, and that the 


HOV/ IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


141 


remembrance of that wrong — fhat sin — was what ailed him 
now ? Was it possible that her unde Jasper, who always ap- 
peared so frank and open, had deceived her ? Was it pos- 
sible that Hinton knew that she was deceived? These 
thoughts did not trouble her much in the daytime, but at 
night they rose to agonies. They kept sleep far away : so 
much so, that in the morning she often came downstairs 
heavy-eyed and weary. She blamed herself, then, for her 
mean suspicions; she said to herself, as she gave her father 
his morning cup of coffee, that no face could be more inca- 
pable of concealing a wrong than that noble old face oppo- 
site to her, and she tried to atone for her feelings by extra 
tenderness of voice and manner. But though this revulsion 
of feeling came with the morning, the night brought back 
the same agony. She now disliked even to think of Mrs. 
Home, she never spoke of her to John Hinton. He watched 
for her to do so, but the name of this young woman which 
had so intensely interested her never passed her lips. When 
Hinton told her that little Harold was better, and that on a 
certain day he and his mother would be in Kentish Town 
once more, she colored slightly and changed the subject. 
Hinton rather wondered at this. Uncle Jasper also remarked 
it. It was now a week to the wedding-day, and Charlotte 
was nerving herself for an effort. She had firmly resolved 
that before she really gave herself to Hinton, she would read 
her grandfather’s will. She felt that nothing else would com- 
pletely set her mind at rest. She dreaded doing this as 
much as she longed for it. Each day as it dawned she had 
put off the task, but when the day just a week before her 
wedding came, she felt that she must overcome what she 
called a weakness. She would learn the worst that very 
day. She had little or no idea how to carry out her design. 
She only knew that the will was kept at Somerset House, 
that if she went there and allowed herself to go through cer- 
tain forms she should see it. She had never seen a will in 
her life, she scarcely knew even what it would look like. 
Nevertheless, she could consult no one. She must just go to 
the place and trust to circumstances to do the rest. 

On the thirteenth of April she resolved, as she put on her 
dress and hurried down to meet her father at Breakfast, that 
before that night came she would carry out her design. Her 
father seemed better that morning. The day was a specially 
lovely one, and Charlotte said to herself that, before that 
time to-morrow, her heart would be at rest; she would not 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


142 

even allow herself to glance at a darker alternative. In- 
deed, happy in having at last firmly made up her mind, she 
became suddenly scarcely at all fearful, scarcely anything 
but completely hopeful. She resolved that nothing should 
turn her from her purpose to-day. 

Her father kissed her, told her he felt certainly better, 
and went off to the city. 

Immediately after/her uncle Jasper came in. 

“ Lottie, child 1 I can take you to the private view of 

Mrs. ’s pictures; I have just got an invitation. You 

know how wild you are to see them. Be read)' a-t two o’clock. 
I will call for you then.” 

“ I am very sorry, but I cannot go with you this after- 
noon, Uncle Jasper.” 

“ Oh ! You have made an engagement with Hinton. 
Can’t you put it off ? This is the last day for the pictures. 
You can go with Hinton to-morrow.” 

“It is not an engagement with John, Uncle Jasper. It 
is something else, and I cannot put off.” 

All the time a rather loud voice within was saying to her, 
“ Go and see the pictures. Put off the reading of the will. 
Be happy for one more day.” But because this voice, which 
became so loud, frightened her, she would not yield to it. 

“ I am very sorry,” she repeated ; “ I should have liked 
it greatly. But I cannot go.” 

Well ! it is a pity, and I took some trouble about it. 
However, it can’t be helped.” 

“ No, it can’t be helped,” repeated Charlotte. 

Uncle Jasper went, feeling some annoyance, and also a 
little curiosity. 

“ Strange cattle — women,” he said to himself. “ I con- 
fess I don’t understand ’em. Charlotte, wild to get to that 
private view two days ago, now won’t go because of a whim. 
Well ! I’m glad I never took a wife. I rather pity Hinton. 
I would not be .tied even to that fine creature, Lottie, forever.” 

Jasper Harman had scarcely turned the corner of the 
street, befoie a cab drew up at the house, and Hinton came 
in. Charlotte had not yet left the breakfast-room. 

“ Ah ! my dearest, I am afraid you might be out I must 
hurry away at’once ; but I just called to say that I have had 
a telegram from Webster. You know how I have longed 
for you two to meet. Well, he is coming to town to-day, and 
I want to bring him here at three o’clock. You will be sure 
to be at home.” 


■HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*43 

“I am afraid I can’t, John ; I have an engagement.” 

“ Oh ! but you must put it off, you really must see Webster. 
He is my greatest friend, and is to be my best man. You 
really must, Lottie ! and he telegraphs that he is coming up 
from Oxford on purpose.” 

“Iam ever so sorry. Could not you telegraph to him 

put off his visit until to-morrow ? ” 

“ No, my dear ; he has started before this.” 

“I am very sorry ; Iam unfortunate,” repeated Charlotte. 
A certain degree of obstinacy, altogether foreign to her na- 
ture, had crept into her voice. 

Hinton looked at her in undisguised astonishment, 

“ You don’t mean to say that you are not going to see 
Webster, when he is coming up to town on purpose ? ” 

“ John, dear, I will see him at five o’clock, I shall be 
home then. But I have an engagement at three.” 

“ I cannot bring Webster here at five, he must be on his 
way back then. You must put off your engagement.” 

“ I really cannot. Uncle Jasper has just been here, and 
he asked me to go with him to see the private views at Mrs. 

’s studio. He took some trouble to get the invitation 

for us both, but I could not go with him, nor can I stay in. 
Mr. Webster must wait to make my acquaintance on our 
wedding-day, John.” 

“ And I am to tell him that ? ” . 

“ Say everything as nice and polite as you can. Say that 
I am mbst truly sorry.” 

Hinton turned his back on his promised bride ; there 
was a cloud on his brow, he felt both hurt and angry. 

“ Lottie ! what is your engagement ? ” This was said 
while pretending to look down the street. 

Charlotte came close and put her hand a little timidly 
on his shoulder. “ I know you will be vexed,” she said “ but 
I cannot tell 'you.” 

Hinton held up- his hand to a passing hansom. 

“ Yes, I am vexed,” he said, “ but I cannot wait any long- 
er now. You know I hate secrets' and I think you might 
have obliged me, Charlotte.” 

“ I wish I could,” she said, and now her eyes filled with 
tears. 

Hinton scarcely kissed her before he rushed away, and 
Charlotte sank down on the nearest chair. The unaccount- 
able feeling which had prompted her to refuse both her 
uncle and her lover, and to fix just that hour of three o’clock 


144 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 

to visit Somerset House, was too strange and strong to be 
overcome. But the hope which had brightened her break- 
fast hour had nowall departed. Her heartfelt like lead 
within her breast, she dared not fully contemplate the real- 
ization of her worst fears. But they thronged like legion 
round her path. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

WHERE HAD THE MONEY CARES VANISHED TO? 

Hinton felt thoroughly angry ; perhaps he had some 
cause. Webster, his college chum, his greatest friend, was 
coming up to town. He had heard many times and often 
of Hinton’s promised bride, and he was coming to town, 
Hinton knew well at some personal inconvenience, to see her, 
and she refused to see him. 

Hinton, as well as Uncle Jasper, considered it a whim 
of Charlotte’s. He was surprised. Nay, he was more than 
surprised. He was really angry. Here was the woman, 
who in a week’s time now must stand up before God and 
promise solemnly to obey him for all the remainder of her life, 
refusing to attend to his most natural desire. She had an 
engagement, and she would not tell him what it was ; she 
made a secret of it. Be the secret little or great, she knew 
how he disliked all such concealments. 

Was it possible that he was deceived in Charlotte after 
all ? No, no, he was too really loyal to her, too sincerely 
attached to her : her frankness and sweetness were too nat- 
ural, too complete, for him really to doubt her ; but he owned 
that he was disappointed — he owned that he had not the 
greatness which she under similar circumstances would have 
exercised. She was keeping him in the dark — in the dark 
he could not trust. He recalled, with feelings of anything 
but pleasure, her last secret. She thought little of it. But 
Hinton knew how differently he had received it ; he did not 
like to be reminded of it now. During the last few weeks 
he had managed almost completely to banish it from his 
thoughts ; but now it came back to his memory with some 
force ; it reminded him of Mrs. Home, Was it possible that 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


*45 

he was acting wrongly in not searching into her rights ? 
Was it possible that things had already come to such a pass 
with him, that he would not do the right because he feared 
the consequences ? Had riches and wealth and worldly 
honor already become dearer to his soul than righteousness 
and judgment and truth ? 

These condemnatory thoughts were very painful to the 
young man ; but they turned his feelings of indignation from 
Charlotte to himself. 

It was nearly a month now since he had left Mrs. Home. 
When he went away he had provided her with another lod- 
ger. He remembered that by this time she must have come 
back from Torquay. As this thought came to him he stop- 
ped suddenly and pulled out his watch. Webster would not 
be at Paddington before two o’clock. He had nothing very 
special to do that morning, he would jump into a hansom 
and go and see Mrs. Home and Harold. He put his 
ideas into execution without an instant’s delay, and arrived 
at Kentish Town and drew up at the well-known door at 
quite an early hour. Daisy and the baby were already out, 
but Harold, still something of an invalid, stood by the din- 
ing-room window. Harold, a little weary from his journey, > 
a little spoiled by his happy month at Torquay, was expe- 
riencing some of that flatness, which must now and then visit 
even a little child when he finds he must descend from a 
pedestal. For a very long thne he had been first in every 
one’s thoughts. He had now to retire from the privileges of 
an invalid to the everyday position, the everyday life of a 
healthy child. While at Torquay his mother had no thought 
for any one but him ; but now, this very morning, she had 
clasped the baby in such an ecstasy of love to her heart, 
that little spoiled Harold felt quite a pang of jealousy. It 
was with a shout therefore of almost ecstasy that he hailed 
Hinton. He flew to open the door for him himself, and 
when he entered the dining-room he instantly climbed on 
his knee. Hinton was really fond of the boy, and Harold 
reflected with satisfaction that he was altogether his own 
friend, that he scarcely knew either Daisy or the baby. 

In a rr/oment entered the happy, smiling mother. 

“ Ah ! you have come to see your good work completed,” 
she said. “ See what a healthy little boy I have brought 
back with me.” 

“ We had just a delicious time,” said Harold, “ and I’m 
very strong again now, ain’t I, mother ? But it wasn’t Mr, 


I 4 6 how it ALL CAME ROutirD. 

Hinton gave us the money to go to Torquay, it was my pretty 
lady.” 

“ Do you know,” said Mrs. Home, “ I think you were 
scarcely, for all your great, great, and real kindness, scarcely 
perfect even in that respect. I never knew until a few 
days^ago, and then it was in a letter from herself, that you 
are so soon to marry Charlotte Harman.” 

“ Yes, we are to be married on the twentieth,” answered 
Hinton, “ Has she written to you ? I am glad.” 

“ I had one letter from her. She wrote to ask about 
my boy, and to tell me this of you.” 

She takes a great interest in you,” said Hinton. 

“And I in her. I believe I can read character fairly 
well, and in her I see ” 

“ What ? ” asked the lover, with a smile. 

“ In brow, eyes, and lips I see truth, honor, love, bra- 
very. Mr. Hinton, you deserve it all, but, nevertheless, you 
are drawing a great prize in your wife.” 

“ I believe I am,” answered the young man, deeply 
moved. 

“ When can I see my pretty lady again ? ” asked Harold, 
suddenly. “ If you are going to marry her, do you mean to 
take her quite, quite away ? When may I see her ? ” 

“Before very long, I hope, my dear boy,” answered 
Hinton. 

“ He has talked of her so often,” said the mother. “ I 
never saw any one who in so short a tim6 so completely won 
the heart of a little child; I believe the thought of her 
helped to make him well. Ah ! how thankful I am when I 
look at him ; but Mr. Hinton, there is another thing which 
gives me great joy just now.” 

“ And that ? ” said Hinton. 

“ Last night something very wonderful happened. I was 
at *home not two hours, when I was surprised by a 
visit from one whom I had never seen before and whom I 
had supposed to be in his grave for over twenty years. My 
dear mother had one brother who went to Australia shortly 
after her marriage. From Australia the news reached her 
of his death. He was not dead ; he came back again. I 
had a visit from that uncle last night.” 

“ How strange ! ” said Hinton. 

“Yes ; I have not heard his story yet. He met my lit* 
tie Daisy in Regent’s Park, and found out who she was 
through her likeness to my mother. Is it not all like a ro-» 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*47 


mance ? I had not an idea who the dear old man was when 
he came to visit me last night ; but how glad I am now to 
feel that my own mother’s brother is still alive j ” 

Hinton asked a few more questions ; then after many 
promises of effecting a meeting very soon between Charlotte 
and little Harold he went away. He was puzzled by Mrs. 
Home. The anxious woman he had thought of, whose sad 
face often haunted him, was gone, and another peaceful, 
happy, almost beautiful in her serenity, had come in her 
place. Her joy at Harold’s recovery was both natural and 
right ; but where had the money cares vanished to ? Surely 
Charlotte’s fifty pounds could not have done more than pay 
the Torquay trip. As to her delight over her Australian 
uncle’s return, he rather wondered at it, and then forgot it. 
He little guessed, as he allowed it to vanish from his mind, 
how it was yet to influence the fate of more lives than his. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
jasper’s terror. 

Uncle Jasper, too, left Charlotte on that special morning 
with some displeasure, some surprise, and some anxiety. 
Remorse, as I have said, did not visit the man. Long ago, 
a very 16ng time ago now, he and his brother John had 
touched an evil thing. For both men the natural conse-, 
quences followed ; but how differently ? John wanted to fling 
the base defilement from his soul ; J asper wanted so to 
bury it there, so deftly, so cleverly to hide it within his very 
heart of hearts, that it should not appear to dishonor him in 
the eyes of his fellow-men. Of the final judgment and its 
disclosure he never thought. It was his inability to cover 
up the secret ; it was his ever-growing knowledge that the 
garment was neither long enough nor broad enough to wrap 
it round, that caused his anxiety from day to day. In spite 
of his cheerful and ruddy face he was ieeling quite worn and 
old. If this continues, if these people will insist on pulling 
the house down over their heads, I shall fall ill like John, he 
reflected. He was very angry with these stupid and silly 
people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor on 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


148 

themselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece 
Charlotte had not been the fine and open character she was. 
Had Charlotte been different he might have ventured to 
confide in her. He felt that with Charlotte on his side all 
might yet be well. This, however, was absolutely impossible. 
To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Bad as her 
father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would 
be ten times, twenty times, worse. What an unfortunate 
thing it was that Charlotte had put that advertisement in 
the papers, and that Mrs. Home had answered it ! Mrs. 
Home of all people ! Well, well, it came of that dreadful 
meddling of women in literature. He, Jasper, had known 
no peace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an 
amanuensis to help her with her silly book. 

Jasper on this particular morning, as he hurried off from 
the Harman house, felt less and less comfortable. He was 
sure, by Charlotte’s manner, that her engagement was some- 
thing very particular. He feared she was going to meet 
Mrs. Home. He came, with all his surmises, very far short 
of the real truth, but he was in that state of mind when the 
guilty fly, with no man pursuing. It had been an awful 
moment for old Jasper Harman when, a week ago, he had 
suddenly knocked up against that solitary, foreign-looking 
man. He had heard his voice and seen his face, and he 
had felt his own heart standing still. Who was this man ? 
Was he a ghost? the ghost of the long-dead trustee ? Jasper 
began to hope that it was but an accidental likeness in voice 
and manner. For was not this man, this Alexander Wilson, 
named in his father’s will, dead and buried for many a day ? 
Had not he, J asper, not, indeed, seen him die, but had he 
not stood on his grave ? Had not he travelled up some 
hundreds of miles in that wild Australian country for the 
sole purpose of standing on that special grave ? And had 
not he read name and age, and date of death, all fully corro- 
borating the story which had been sent to him ? Yes, Jasper 
hoped that it was but a very remarkable likeness — a ghost 
of the real man. How, indeed, could it be anything but a 
ghost when he had stood upon the man’s very grave ? He 
hoped this. He had brought himself almost to believe it ; 
but for all that, fear and uneasiness were becoming more 
and more his portion, and he did not like to dwell even in 
thought upon that fight’s adventures. He walked on fast. 
He disliked cabs, and never took them. One of his great 
secrets of health was exercise, and plenty of it ; but he was 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


H9 

rather in a hurry; he had an appointment in town fora 
comparatively early hour, and he wanted to call at his club 
for letters. He reached his destination, entered the build- 
ing, and found a little pile awaiting him. He turned slowly 
into the reading-room to read them. One after the other he 
tore them open. They were not very interesting, and a 
rapid glance of his quick, deep eye was sufficient to enable 
him to master the contents. In ten minutes he had but one 
letter left to read, and that was in a strange handwriting. 
“ Another begging epistle,” he said to himself. He felt in- 
clined to tear it up without going to the trouble of opening 
it. He had very nearly slipped it into his pocket, to take 
its chance at some future time, for he remembered that he 
was already late. Finally he did neither; he opened the 
letter and read it where he sat. This was what his eyes 
rested on, — 

“ io, Tremins Road, “ Kentish Town. 

“ Sir 

“ According to your wish I write to you at your club. 
My wife returned from Torquay last night, and I told her 
of your visit and your proposal. She desires me to say, and 
this I do, both from her and myself, that she will not accept 
your offer, for reasons which we neither of us care to explain. 
We do not wish for the three thousand pounds you are will- 
ing to settle on my wife. 

“ I remain, sir, 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“ Angus Home. 

“ To Jasper Harman, Esq.” 

This letter fell from the hands of Jasper. His lips came 
a little apart, and a new look of terror came into his eyes. 
So absorbed was he, so thoroughly frightened by this letter, 
that he forgot where he was. He neither saw the looks of 
surprise, nor heard Jhe words of astonishment made by those 
about him. Finally he gathered up envelope and paper and 
hurried out. As he walked down the street he looked by 
no means so young as he had done when he got up that 
morning. His hat was put on crooked, his very gait was un- 
certain. Jasper had got a shock. Being utterly unable to 
read the minds of the people who had written to him, he 
could but imagine one meaning to their words. They were 
not so unworldly as he had hoped. They saw through his 
bribe ; they would not accept it, because — because — they 
knew better. Mrs. Home had read that will. Mrs. Home 


[HOW. IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


1 5 ° 

meant to prosecute. Yes, yes, it was all as plain as that the 
sun was shining overhead. Mrs. Home meant to go to law. 
Exposure, and disgrace, and punishment were all close at 
hand. There was no doutft of it, no doubt whatever now. 
Those were the reasons which neither Mr. nor Mrs. Home 
cared to explain. Turning a corner he came suddenly full 
tilt against Hinton. The young man turned and walked 
down the street with him. 

“ You are on your way to Charlotte ? ” remarked the old 
man. 

“ No : I have been to her already. She has an engage- 
ment this afternoon. Did she not tell you ? She said you 
wanted her to go somewhere with you, and this same engage- 
ment prevented it. No, I am not going to Prince’s Gate, 
but I am off to Paddington in about an hour to meet a 
friend.” 

Hinton spoke cheerfully, for his passing annoyance with 
Charlotte had absolutely vanished under Mrs. Home’s words 
of loving praise. When Mrs. Home spoke as she had done 
of his brave and noble Charlotte the young man had felt 
quite ashamed of having doubted her even for a brief 
moment. 

Jasper had, however, been told of little Harold’s illness, 
and Hinton, knowing this, continued, — 

“ I have just come from the Homes. You know whom 
I mean ? Their little boy was the one I helped to nurse 
through scarlet fever. Mother and boy have come back 
from Torquay like different creatures from the pleasant 
change. Mrs, Home looked absolutely bright. Charlotte 
will like to hear of her ; and by the way, a curious thing, a 
little bit of a romance has happened to her. An uncle from 
Australia, whom she had supposed to be dead and in his 
grave for over twenty years, walked in alive and hale last 
night. She did not know him at first^but he managed to 

prove his identity. He good heavens ! Mr. Harman, 

what is the matter ? You are ill ; come in here.” 

Hinton led Jasper into a chemist’s shop, which they 
happened to be passing at the moment, for his ruddy face 
had suddenly become ghastly white, and he had to clutch 
the young man’s arm to keep himself from falling. 

“ It is nothing,” he explained, when he had been given 
a restorative. “ Yes, I felt faint. I hope I am not going to 
be taken bad like my brother. What do you say ? a hansom ? 
Well, yes, perhaps I had better have one.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


* 5 * 

Jasper, was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton 
Walked on. No dust had been thrown in his eyes as to the 
cause of Jasper’s agitation. He had observed the start of 
almost terror with which he had turned on him when he had 
first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs, Hom'e’s. 
He had often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he 
tried to hide it, when the Homes were mentioned. What 
did it all mean ? Hinton felt very uncomfortable. Much as 
he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry into a family 
who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and 
more convinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle 
w r ho was supposed to be dead was in some way connected 
with it. Hinton was too aGute, too clever, to put down 
J asper’s agitation to any other cause. Instantly he began 
to see a reason for Mrs. Home’s joy in the recovery of this 
long-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, un- 
worthy and untrue ; but nevertheless it took possession of 
the mind of this young man. The uncle ceased to be an ob- 
ject of little interest to him. He walked on, feeling down- 
cast and perplexed. This day week would be his wedding- 
day, and Charlotte — Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothing 
should part them. But what was this secret ? Could he, 
dare he, fathom it ? No, because of Charlotte he must not 
— it would break Charlotte’s heart ; because of Charlotte’s 
father he must not, for it would cause his death ; and yet, 
because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himself 
that he disliked Jasper more and more. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE READING OF THE WILL. 

Charlotte’s depression did not ‘remain with her all 
through the day. She was a healthy creature, healthy both 
in body and mind. It was impossible for her, with the bright 
spring sun shining, and with her wedding-day but one week 
absent, not to turn again to hope. She saw that she had 
vexed Hinton. She still felt that queer and uncomfortable 
desire to be at Somerset House, just at the very hour when 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


152 

her lover had pleaded for her society. But she reflected that 
when she told him the story, when she proudly cleared her 
father in his eyes, he would most abundantly forgive her. 

“ He hates secrets,” she said to herself ; “ and it is the last, 
the very last, little, tiny secret I shall ever have from my 
darling.” 

By this it will be seen that she had ceased to fear her 
grandfather’s will. She had ordered the carriage immediately 
after lunch, and now asked the coachman to drive to the 
Strand. As she lay back at her ease she reflected how soon 
now her anxiety would be over. 

“ Dear father,” she whispered to her heart, “ how extra 
loving and tender I must be to him to-night ! I believe him 
now — fully and absolutely believe him now. I am only doing 
this- for John’s sake.” 

When she reached the Strand she desired the coachman 
to stop. She would not hawe him drive to Somerset House. 
Her secret was a secret , even the old coachman, who had 
known her from her birth, must not guess it. She told him 
that she had some business to transact, but that he might 
meet her at a certain part of the Embankment in an hour. 

The carriage rolled out of slight. Now she was alone. 
She was not accustomed to walking the London streets by 
herself. Certainly she had never been in the Strand before 
alone. She had dressed herself with studied plainness, and 
now, with her veil drawn tightly over her face, she hurried 
on. She had consulted the map, and knew exactly where 
Somerset House was. She also had obtained a little, a very 
little information as to how she was to act for the pursuit of 
her purpose, from a young barrister who had visited at her 
home with Hinton some few weeks before. She considered that 
she had gained her knowledge with considerable skill ; and 
now, with a beating heart, she proceeded to act on it. She 
turned into the great square which Somerset House encloses, 
found the particuliar building where wills are kept, and en- 
tered. She was now in a large room, or entrance-hall. 
There were many desks about, and some clerks, who did 
not seem particularly busy. Charlotte went up to one of the 
desks, a clerk lent an attentive ear, she told her errand. 

“ Ah ! you want to read a will,” said the gentleman. 
“You must first produce the proper stamp. Yes, yes, you 
can certainly see any willyou desire. Just go through that 
door to your right, walk down the passage; you will see a 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


I S3 

door with such a direction written on it ; ask for a search 
stamp. It will cost you a shilling. Bring it back to me.” 

Charlotte did as she was desired. The clerk she had 
appealed to, attracted by her appearance and manner, was 
willing to be both helpful and polite. 

“ Whose will do you want, madam ? ” 

“ I want my grandfather’s will. His name was Harman. 1 ’ 

“ What year did he die ? ” 

“ Twenty-three years ago.” 

“ Ah ! just so. This is 1880. So he died in the year 
1857. Do you see those catalogues to your left ? Go up to 
those marked 1857. Look under letter H, until you find 
Harman. Bring the book open at that name to me.” 

Charlotte was clever at carrying out her instructions. She 
quickly returned with the book opened at the desired name. 
The clerk wrote Mr. Harman’s name and a number of a 
folio on a small piece of blue paper. This he gave to Char- 
lotte. 

“ Take this piece of paper to room number 31, along the 
passage,” he said. “ You will have the will ver^soon now.” 

She bowed, thanked him, and went away. At room 31 
she was desired to wait in the reading-room. She found it 
without difficulty. It was a small room, with a long table in 
the middle, and benches round it. At one end sat a clerk at 
a desk. Charlotte seated herself at the table. There were 
other people about, some reading wills, some others waiting 
like herself. She happened just then to be the only woman 
in the room. She drew up her veil, pressed her hand to her 
pale face, and waited with what patience she could. She 
was too much excited to notice how she was looked at and her 
appearance commented upon. Sitting there and waiting with 
what courage she could muster, her fear returned. What 
stealthy thing was this she was doing in the dark ? What 
march was she stealing on her father, her beloved and hon- 
ored father ? Suddenly it appeared to her that she had done 
wrong. That it would be better, more dignified, more noble, 
to ask from his own lips the simple truth, than to learn it by 
such underhand means as these. She half rose to go away ; 
but at this moment a clerk entered, gave a piece of folded 
paper to the man at the desk, who read aloud the one 
word, — 

“ Harman.’ 

Charlotte felt herself turning deadly white as she stood up 
to receive it. But when she really held her grandfather’s 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


154 

will in her hand all desire not to read it had left her. She 
opened the folio with her shaking fingers, and began to read 
as steadily as she could. Her eyes had scarcely, however, 
turned over the page, and most certainly her mind had failed 
to grasp the meaning of a single word, before, for some un- 
accountable reason, she raised her head. A large man had 
come in and had seated himself opposite to her. He was a 
man on an immense scale, with a rough, red, kind face, and 
the longest, most brilliantly colored beard Charlotte had 
ever seen. His round, bright blue eyes were fixed earnestly 
on the young lady. She returned his glance, in her own 
peculiar full and open way, then returned to her interrupted 
task. Ah ! what a task it was after all. Hard to understand, 
how difficult to follow ! Charlotte, unused to all law phrase- 
ology, failed to grasp the meaning of what she read. She knit 
her pretty brows, and went over each passage many times. 
She was looking for certain names, and she saw no mention 
of them. Her heart began to leap with renewed joy and 
hope. Ah ! surely, surely her grandfather had been unjust, 
and her own beloved father was innocent. Mrs. Home’s 
story was but a myth. She had read for such a long, long 
time, and there was no mention of her or of her mother. 
Surely if her grandfather meant to leave them money he 
would have spoken of it before now. She had just turned 
another page, and was reading on with a light heart, when 
'the clerk again entered. Charlotte raised her head, she 
could not tell why. The clerk said something to the clerk 
at the desk, who, turning to the tall foreign-looking man 
said, — 

“ The will of the name of Harman is being read just now 
by some one in the room.” . 

“I will wait then,” answered the man in his deep 
voice. 

Charlotte felt herself turning first crimson, then pale. 
She saw that the man observed her. A sudden sense of 
fright and of almost terror oppressed her. Her sweet and 
gracious calm completely deserted her. Her fingers trem- 
bled so that she could scarcely turn the page. She did not 
know what she feared. A nightmare seemed pressing on 
her. She felt that she could never grasp the meaning of 
the will. Her eyes travelled farther down the page. Sud- 
denly her finger stopped ; her brain grew clear, her heart 
beat steadily. This was what she read, — 

“ I will and bequeath all the residue of my real and per- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

sonal estate and effects to the said John Harman Jasper 
Harman, and Alexander Wilson, in trust to sell and realize 
the same, and out of the proceeds thereof to invest such a 
sum in public stocks or funds, or other authorized securities, 
as will produce an annual income of £ 1,200 a year, and to 
hold the investment of the said sum in trust to pay the in- 
come thereof to my dear wife for her life : and after her de- 
cease to ‘hold the said investment in trust for my daughter 
Charlotte to her sole and separate use, independently of any 
husband with whom she may intermarry.” 

Charlotte Harman was not the kind of woman who faints. 
But there is a heart faintness when the muscles remain 
unmoved, and the eyes are still bright. At that moment her 
youth died absolutely. But though she felt its death pang, 
not a movement of her proud face betrayed her. She saw, 
without looking at him, that the red-faced man was watching 
her. She forced herself to raise her eyes, and saying simply, 
“ This is Mr. Harman’s will,” handed it to him across the 
table. He took it, and began to devour the contents with 
quick and practised eyes. What she had taken so long to 
discover he took it in at a glance. She heard him utter a 
a smothered exclamation of pain and horror. She felt not 
the least amazement or curiosity. All emotion seemed dead 
in her. She drew on her gloves deliberately* pulled down 
her veil, and left the room. That dead, dead youth she was 
dragging away with her had made her feel so cold and numb 
that she never noticed that the red faced man had hastily 
folded up the will, had returned it to the clerk at the desk, 
and was following her. She went through the entrance hall, 
glancing neither to the left or right. The man came near. 
When they both got into the square he came to her side, 
raised his hat and spoke. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

TRUSTEES. 

“ Madam,” said the stranger, “ you will pardon my in- 
truding on you, but I saw it in your face. You are interested in 
that will you have just read.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


156 

“ Yes,” answered Charlotte simply. 

At another time she would haye given an indignant retort 
to what she would have considered a liberty. Now she 
turned her eyes with a mute appeal in them to this stranger, 
for she recognized kindness in his tones. 

“ It was my grandfather’s will,” she said, responding yet 
farther to the full, kind gaze he gave her back. , 

“ Ah ! then that sets me right,” said Sandy Wilson, for it 
was he. “ That sets me right, young lady. Now I saw you 
got a considerable bit of a shock just then. You ain’t, you’ll 
forgive me for saying so, but you ain’t quite fit to meet any 
of your people for a bit ; you may want them not to guess, 
but any one with half an eye can see you’re not the young 
lady you were even when I entered that reading-room not 
half an hour back. I’m a rough, plain man, but I’m very 
much interested in that will too, and I’d like to have a little 
bit of a talk with you about it, if you’ll allow me. Suppose, 
miss, that you and I just take a turn round the square for a 
few moments.” 

Charlotte’s answer to this was to turn her face again to- 
wards the particular building where' she had read the will, 
and her companion, turning with her, began to talk eagerly. 

“ You see, miss, it was quite a little bit of luck brought 
you and me together to-day. The gentleman who made that 
will was your grandfather ; your name is ” 

“ Harman,” answered Charlotte. 

“ Ah ! yes, I see ; and I — I am Alexander Wilson. I 
don’t suppose you ever saw me before ; but I, too, am much 
interested in that will. I have been abroad, and — and — 
supposed to be dead almost ever since that will was made. 
But I was not dead, I was in Australia ; I came home a week 
ago, and found out my one living relation, my niece, my 
sister’s child. She is married and is a Mrs. Home now, but 
she is the Charlotte named in Mr. Harman’s will, the Char- 
lotte to whom, and to her mother before her, Mr, Harman 
left £ 1 ,200 a year.” 

/“ Yes,” said Charlotte Harman. She found difficulty in 
dragging this one word from her lips. 

“ Madam, I find my niece very poor ; very, very poor. I 
go and look at her father’s will, I see there that she is en- 
titled to wealth, to what she would consider riches. I find 
also that this money is left for her benefit in the hands of 
trustees ; two of the trustees are called Harman, the other, 
madam, is — is I — myself ; I — Alexander Wilson, am the 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*57 

other trustee, supposed to be dead. I could not hitherto act, 
but I can act now. I can get that wronged woman back her 
own. Yes, a monstrous piece of injustice has been done. 
It was full time for Sandy Wilson to come home. Now the 
first thing I must do is to find the other trustees ; I must 
find the Harmans, wherever they are, for these Harmans 
have robbed my niece.” 

“I can give you their addresses,” answered Charlotte, 
suddenly pausing in her walk and turning and facing her 
companion. “John Harman, the other trustee, who, as you 
say, has robbed Mrs. Home, is my father. I am his only 
child. His address is Prince’s Gate, Kensington.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” said Wilson, shocked and frightened 
by her manner ; “ I never guessed that you were his child — 
and yet you betray him.” 

“ I am his only child. When do you wish to see him ? ” 

To this question Wilson made no answer for a few mo- 
ments. Though a just man, he was a kind one. He could 
read human nature with tolerable accuracy. It was despair, 
not want of feeling, which put those hard tones into that 
young voice. He would not, he could not, take advantage 
of its bewilderment. 

“Miss Harman,” he said after a pause, “ you will pardon 
me, but I don’t think you quite know what you are saying; 
you have got a considerable bit of a shock ; you w^ere not 
prepared for this baseness — this baseness on your father’s 
part.” 

Here her eyes, turned with a sudden swift flash of agony 
upon him, said as plainly as eyes could speak — 

“ Need you ask ? ” 

“ No, you could not have guessed it,” continued Sandy, 
replying to this mute, though beautiful appeal, almost wtih 
tears. “ You are Mr. Harman’s only child. Now I daresay 
you are a good bit of an idol with him. I know how I’d 
worship a fine lassie like you if I had her. Well, well, miss: 

I don’t want to pain you, but when young things come all on 
a heap on a great wrong like you have done to-day, they’re 
apt, whatever their former love, to be a bit, just a bit, too 
hard. They do things, in their first agony, that they are 
sorry enough for by and by. Now, miss, what I w r ant to say 
is this, that I won’t take down your father’s address to-day 
nor listen indeed to anything you may tell me about him. I 
want you to sleep it ove% miss. Of course something must 
be done, but if you will sleep it over, and I, Sandy Wils6n 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


* 5 * 

sleep it over too, we’ll come' together over the business with 
our heads a deal clearer than we could when we both felt 
scared, so to speak, as we doubtless do just at preseht. I 
won’t move hand or foot in the matter until I see you again, 
Miss Harman, When do you think you will be able to see 
me again ? ” 

“ Will this hour to-morrow do ? ” 

“ Yes ; I shall be quite at your service. And as we may 
want to look at that will again, suppose we meet just here, 
miss? ” 

“ I will be here at this hour to-morrow,” said Charlotte, 
and as she spoke she pulled out her watch to mark the exact 
time. “ It is a quarter past four now,” she said ; “ I will 
meet you here at this hour to-morrow, at a quarter past 
four.” 

“ Very well, young lady, and may God help you ! If I 
might express a wish for you, it is that you may have a good 
hard cry between now and then. When I was told, and quite 
sudden like too, that my little sister, Daisy Wilson, was dead 
nothing took off the pressure from my heart and brain like a 
good hearty cry. So I wish you the same. They say women 
need it more than men.” , 


CHAPTER XXXV. 
dan’s wife. 

Charlotte watched Wilson out of the square, then she 
slowly followed him. The numbness of that dead youth was 
still oppressing her heart and brain. But she remembered 
that the carriage must be waiting for her on the Embank- 
ment, also that her father — she gasped a little as the thought 
of her father came to her — that her father would have 
returned from the city ; that he might ask for her, and would 
wonder and grow uneasy at her absence. She must go home, 
that was her first thought. She hurried her steps, anxious to 
take the first turning which would lead to the Embankment. 

She had turned down a side -street and was walking 
rapidly, when she heard her name called suddenly and 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


*59 

eagerly, and a woman, very shabbily dressed, came up to 
her. 

“Oh, Miss Harman — Miss Harman — don’t you know 
me ? ” 

Charlotte put her hand to her brow. 

“Yes,” she said, “I know you now; you are Hester 
Wright. Is your husband out of prison yet ? ” 

“ He is, Miss, and he’s dying ; he’s dying ’ard, ’ard ; he’s 
allers saying as he wants to see either you or his master. We 
are told that the master is ill ; but oh ! miss, miss, ef you 
would come and see him, he’s dreadful anxious — dreadful, 
dreadful anxious. I think it’s jest some’ut on his mind ; ef 
he could tell it, I believe as he’d die easy. Oh ! my beauti- 
ful, dear young lady, every one has a good word for you. 
Oh ! I was going to make bold to come to Prince’s Gate, and 
ask you to come to see him. You’ll never be sorry, miss, 
if you can help a poor soul to die easy.” 

“ You say he is really dying ? ” said Charlotte. 

“ Yes, indeed, indeed, miss ; he never held up his head 
since he saw the inside of the prison. He’s dying now of a 
galloping waste, so the doctors say. Oh ! Miss Harman, 
I’ll bless you for ever if you’ll come and see him.” 

“ Yes, I will come,” said Charlotte. “ Where do you 
live ? ” 

“ Away over at Poplar, miss. Poor place enough, and 
unfit for one like you, but I’ll come and fetch you my own 
self, and not a pin’s worth of harm shall come to you ; you 
need have no cause to fear. When shall I come for you, my 
dear, dear young lady ? ” 

“ The man is dying, you say,” said Charlotte. “ Death 
doesn’t wait for our convenience f I will come with you 
now. My carriage is waiting quite near, I must go and give 
directions to the coachman : you can come with me : I will 
then get a cab and drive to see your husband.” 

After this the two women — the rich and the poor — 
walked on side by side, quickly and in silence. The heart 
of the one was dry and parched with the sudden fire of that 
anguish and shame, the heart of the other Was so soothed, so 
thankful, that soft tears came, to bp wiped stealthily away. 

“Ain’t she an angel?” she said to herself, knowing 
nothing, guessing less, of the storm which raged within her 
companion’s soul ; “ and won’t my poor Dan die easy now ? ” 


i6o 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

AN OLD WEDDING-RING. 

Once in Charlotte’s life before now, she had remembered 
her father doing what she considered a strangely hard thing. 
A valet in whom he had always reposed full confidence had 
robbed him of one hundred pounds. He had broken open 
his master’s desk at night and taken from thence notes to 
that amount. The deed had been clumsily done, and detec- 
tion was very easy. The name of this valet was Wright. He 
was young and good-looking, and had been lately married ; 
hitherto he had been considered all that was respectable. 
When his crime was brought home to him, he flew to seek 
Charlotte, then a very young girl ; he flung himself on his 
knees in her presence,- and begged of her to ask her father 
to show meroy to him. Scarcely half a dozen words of 
passionate, terrified entreaty had passed his trembling lips, 
before there came a tap at the door and the young wife 
rushed in to kneel by his side. Together they implored ; 
their words were poor and halting, but the agony of their 
great plea for mercy went straight to the young generous 
heart they asked to intercede for them. Charlotte promised 
to do what she could. She promised eagerly, with hope in 
her tones. 

Never afterwards did she forget that day. Long indeed 
did the faces of those two continue to haunt her, for she had 
promised in vain ; her father was obdurate to all her en- 
treaties ; even her tears, and she had cried passionately, had 
failed to move him. Nothing should save Wright from the 
full penalty of his crime. He was arrested, convicted, and 
sent to prison. 

From that moment the Harmans lost sight of the couple. 
Charlotte had tried, it is true, to befriend Hester Wright, but 
the young woman with some pride had refused all assistance . 
from those whom she considered strangely hard and cruel. 
It was some years now since anything had been heard of 
either of them. Charlotte, it is true, had not forgotten them, 
but she had put them into a back part of her memory, 
for her father’s conduct with regard to Wright had always 
keen a sore puzzle to her, And now, on this day of all days. 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND . L 6 x 

she was driving in a cab by the side of Hester Wright to see 
her dying husband. She had sent a message home by the 
coachman which would allay all immediate anxiety on her 
account, and she sat back in the cab by the side of the poor 
and sad woman with a sense of almost relief, for the pres- 
ent. For an hour or two she had something outside of her- 
self and her home to turn her thoughts to* After what 
seemed a very long drive, they reached the shabby court and 
shabbier house where the Wrights lived. 

Charlotte had heard of such places before, but had never 
visited them. Shabby women, and dirty and squalid chil- 
dren surrounded the young lady as she descended to the 
pavement. The children came very close indeed, and;some 
even stroked her dress. One mite of three years raised, in 
the midst of its dirt and neglect, a face of such sweetness 
and innocence, that Charlotte suddenly stooped down and 
kissed it. That kiss, though it left a grimwmark on her lips, 
yet gave the first faint touch of consolation to her sorely 
bruised heart. There was something good still left* on God’s 
earth, and she had come to this slum, in the East end of 
London, to see it shine in a baby’s eyes. 

“Ef.you please, Miss, I think we had better keep the 
cab,” said Hester Wright ; “ I don’t think there’s any cab- 
stand, not a long way from yere.” 

Charlotte spoke to the cabby, desired him to wait, then 
she followed Hester into the house. 

“ No, I have no children,” said the woman in answer to 
a question of the young lady’s ; “ thank God fur that ; who’d 
want to have young ’uns in a hole like this ? ” 

By this time they had reached their destination. It was 
a cellar ; -Hester was not so very far wrong in calling it a 
hole. It was damp, dirty, and ill-smelling, even to the 
woman who was accustomed to it ; to Charlotte it was hor- 
rible beyond words. For a time, the light was so faint she 
could distinguish nothing, then on some straw in a corner 
she saw a man. He was shrunken, and wasted, and dying, 
and Charlotte, prepared as she was for a great change, 
could ne/er have recognized him. His wife, taking Char- 
lotte’s hand in hers, led her forward at once. 

“ You’d never ha’ guessed, Dan, as I’d have so much 
luck,” she said. “ I met our young lady in the street, and 
I made bold to ’ax her and come and see you, and she come 
off at once. This is our Miss Harman, Dan dear,” 


162 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


“Our Miss Harman?” repeated the dying man, raising 
his dim eyes. She’s changed a goodish bit.” 

“ Don’t call me yours,” said Charlotte. “ I never did 
.anything for you.” 

“ Ay, but you tried,” said the wife. “ Dan and me don’t 
furget as we heerd you cryin’ fit to break yer heart outside 
the study door, and him within, wid a heart as hard as a 
nether mill-stone,, would do nought. No, you did yer werry 
best ; Dan and me, we don’t furget.” 

“ No, I don’t furget,” said the man. “ It wor a pity as 
the old man were so werry ’ard. I wor young and I did it 
rare and clumsy $ it wor to pay a debt, a big, big debt. I ’ad 
put my ’and to a bit of paper widhou£ knowing wot. it meant, 
and I wor made to pay fot it, and the notes they seemed real 
’andy. Well, well, I did it badly, I ha’ larnt the right way 
since from some prison pals. I would not be found out so 
easy now.” 

He spoke in an indifferent, drawling kind of voice, which 
expressed no emotion whatever. 

“ You are very ill, I fear,” said Charlotte, kneeling by his 
side. 

“ 111 ! I’m dying, miss dear.” 

Charlotte bed never seen death before. She noticed now 
the queer shade of grey in the complexion, the short and 
labored breath. She felt puzzled by these signs, for though 
she had never seen death, this grayness, this shortness of 
breath, were scarcely unfamiliar. 

“ I’m dying,” continued the man. “ I don’t much care ; 
weren’t it fur Hetty there, I’d be rayther glad. I never ’ad 
a chance since the old master sent me to prison. I’d ha’ lived 
respectable enough ef the old master ’ad bin merciful that 
time. But once in prison, always in prison fur a friendless 
chap like me. I never wanted to steal agen, but I jest ’ad 
to, to keep the life in me. I could get no honest work hany- 
where; then at last I took cold, and it settled yere,” point- 
ing to his sunken chest, “ and I’m going off, sure as sure ! ” 

“ He ain’t like to live another twenty-four hours, so the 
doctor do say,” interrupted the. wife. 

“ No, that’s jest it. Yesterday a parson called. I used 
ter see the jail chaplain, and I never could abide him, but this 
man, he did speak hup and to the point. He said as it wor 
a hawful thing to die unforgiven. He said it over and 
over, until I wor fain to ax him wot I could do to get fur- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ^3 

given, fur he did say it wor an hawful thing to die without 
having parding.” 

“ Oh, it must be, it must be ! ” said Chartlotte, suddenly 
clasping her hands very tightly together. 

“ I axed him how I could get it from God h’ Almighty, 
and he told me, to tell him, the parson, first of all my whole 
story, and then he could adwise me ; so I hup andtelled him 
heverything, hall about that theft as first tuk me to prison 
and ruined me, and how ’ard the old master wor, and I telled 
him another thing too, for he ’ad sech a way, he seemed to 
drawyer werry ’art out of you. Then he axed me ef I’d fur- 
given the old master, and I said no, fur he wor real, real ’ard ; 
then he said so^solemn-like, ‘ That’s a great, great pity, fur 
I’m afraid as God can’t furgive you, till you furgives.’ Arter 
that he said a few more words, and prayed awhile, and then 
he went away. I could not sleep hall night, and to-day I 
called Hetty there, over, and she said as she’d do her werry 
best to bring either the old master yere, or you miss, and 
you see you are come ; ’tis an awful thing to die without par- 
dihg, that’s why I axed you to come.” 

“ Yes,” said Charlotte very softly. 

“ Please, miss, may a poor dying feller, though he ain’t no 
better nor a common, common thief, may he grip, ’old of yer 
and ? ” 

“ With all my heart.” 

“ There now, it don’t seem so werry ’ard. Lord Jesus , 
I furgives Mr. Harman. Now I ha’ said it. Wife dear, bring* 
me hover that little box, that as I allers kep’ so c\os&S 

His wife brought him a tiny and very dirty cardboard 

box. 

“ She kep’ it when I wor locked up ; I allers call it my bit 
o’ revenge. I’ll give it back now. Hetty, open it.” 

Hetty did so, taking from under a tiny bit of cottdh-wool 
a worn, old-fashioned wedding-ring. 

“ There, miss dear,” said Wright, handing it to her, “ that 
wor the old master’s wife’s ring. I knew as he set more 
prize to it nor heverything else he had, he used to wear it 
on a bit of ribbon round his neck. One day he did not put 
it on, he furgot it, and I, when I found he meant to be so 
werry, werry ’ard, I took it and hid it, and took it away wid 
me. It comforted me when I wor so long in prison to think 
as he might be fretting fur it, and never guess as the lad he 
were so ’ard on had it. I never would sell it, and now as I 
has furgiven him, he may have it back agen. You tell him 


j6 4 how it all came round. 

arter I’m dead, tell him as I furgives him, and yere’s the ring 
back agen.” 

Charlotte slipped the worn little trinket on her finger. 

“ I will try and give my father your message,” she said. 
“ I may not be able at once, but I will try. I am glad you 
have forgiven him ; we all stand in 'sore, sore need of that, 
not only from our fellow-men, but ifiuch more from our God. 
Now good-bye, I will come again.” She held out her hand. 

“ Ah, but miss dear, I won’t be yere fur no coming again, 
I’ll be far away. Hetty knows that, poor, poor, gal ! Hetty’ll 
miss me, but only fur that I could be real glad, fur now as I 
ha’ furgiven the old master, I feels real heasy. I ain’t noth- 
ing better nor a common thief, but fur hall that, I think as 
Jesus ’ull make a place for me somehow nigh of hisself.” 

“ And, miss,” said Hester, “ I’m real sorry, and so will 
Dan be when I tell him how bad the old master is.” 

“ My father is not well ; but how do you know ? ” said 
Charlotte. 

“Well, miss, I went to the house to-day, a-looking fur you 
and the servant she told me, she said as there worn’t never 
a hope, as the old master were safe to die.” 

“ Then maybe I can tell himself hup in heaven as I quite 
furgives him,” said Dan Wright. 

Charlotte glanced from one speaker to the other in a kind 
of terrible astonishment. Suddenly she knew on whose brow 
she had seen that awful grayness, from whose lips she had 
heard that short and hurried breath. A kind of spasm of 
great agony suddenly contracted her heart. Without a word, 
however, she rose to her feet, gave the wife money for her 
present needs, bade the dying husband good-bye, and stepped 
into the cab which still waited for her. It was really late, and. 
ail daylight had faded as she gave the direction for her own 
luxurious home. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THREE FACTS. 

Dinner was more than half over when she reached 
Prince’s Gate. She was glad of this. She went straight up 
to her own room and sent for her maid. 

“ Ward, I am very tired and not very well. I shall not 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUMD. 


l6 5 

go down again to-night, nor do I wish to see any one. Please 
bring up a cup of strong tea here, and a little dry toast, and 
then you may leave me. I shall not want you again to- 
night.” 

“ You won’t see Mr. Harman again to-night, miss. Am 
I to take him that message ? ” 

“ Yes ; say that I have a headache and think I had bet- 
ter stay quiet. I will be down to breakfast as usual.” 

Ward went away, to return in a few moments with the 
tea and toast. 

“ If you please, Miss Harman, they have just sent the 

wedding dress and veil from . Are you too tired to be 

fitted to-night ? ” 

Charlotte gave a little involuntary shudder. 

“Yes, I am much too tired,” she said ; “ put everything 
away, I do not want even to look at them. Thank you, 
Ward, this tea looks nice. Now you need not come in 
again. Goodnight.” 

“ Good night, Mis? Harman,” said the maid, going softly 
to the door and closing it behind her. 

Charlotte got up at once and turned the key. Now, at 
last, thank God, she was quite alone. She threw off - her 
bonnet and cloak and going straight to her bed flung herself 
upon it. In this, position she lay still for over an hour. The 
strong tension she had put on herself gave way during that 
hour, for she groaned often and heavily, though tears were 
very far from her eyes. At the end of about an hour she 
got up, bathed her face and hands in cold water, drank a 
cup of tea, and put some coals on a fire in the grate. She 
then pulled out her watch. Yes ; she gave a sigh of relief— 
it was not yet ten o’clock, she had the best part of twelve 
hours before her in which to prepare to meet her father at 
breakfast. In these hours she must think, she must resolve, 
she must prepare herself for action. She sat down opposite 
the little cheerful fire which, warm though the night was, was 
grateful to her in her chilled state of mind and body. Look- 
ing into its light she allowed thought to have full dominion 
over her. Hitherto, from the moment she had read those 
words in her grandfather’s will until this present moment, 
she had kept thought back. In the numbness which im- 
mediately followed the first shock, this was not so difficult. 
She had heard all Sandy Wilson’s words, but had only dimly 
followed out their meaning. He wanted to meet her on the 
morrow. She had promised to meet him, as she \yould have 


1 66 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


promised also to do anything else, however preposterous, at 
that moment. Then she had felt a desire, more from the 
force of habit than from any stronger motive, to go home. 
She had been met by Hester Wright, and Hester had taken 
her to see her dying husband. She had stood by the death- 
bed and looked into the dim and terrible eyes of death, and 
felt as though a horrible nightmare was oppressing her, and 
then at last she had got away, and at last, at last she was at 
home. The luxuries of her own refined and beautiful home 
surrounded her. She was seated in the room where she had 
slept as a baby, as a child, as a girl ; and now, now she must 
wake from this semi-dream, she must rouse herself, she 
must think it out. Hinton was right in saying that in a 
time of great trouble a very noble part of Charlotte would 
awake ; that in deep waters such a nature as hers would rise, 
not sink. It was awakening now, and putting forth its young 
wings, though its birth-throes were causing agony. “ I +will 
look the facts boldly in the face,” she said once aloud, 
“even my own heart shall not accuse me of cowardice.” 
There were three facts confronting this young woman, and 
one seemed nearly as terrible as the other. First, her father 
was guilty. During almost all the years of her life he had 
been not an honorable, but a base man ; he had, to enrich 
himself, robbed the widow and the fatherless ; he had grown 
wealthy ©n their poverty ; he had left them to suffer, perhaps 
to die. The will which he had thought would never be read 
was there to prove his treachery. Believing that his fellow- 
trustee was dead, he had betrayed his sacred trust. Char- 
lotte could scarcely imagine a darker crime. Her father, 
who looked so noble, who was so tender and good to her, 
who bore so high a character in the eyes of the world, was a 
very bad man. This was her first fact. Her second seemed, 
just because of the first, even a shade darker. This father, 
whom she had loved, this poor, broken-down, guilty father, 
who, like a broken idol, had fallen from his high estate in 
her heart, was dying. Ah k she knew it now ; that look on 
his old face could only belong to the dying. How blind she 
had been ! how ignorant ! But the Wrights’ words had torn 
the veil from her eyes ; the guilty man was going fast to 
judgment. The God whom he had sinned against was about 
to demand retribution. Now she read the key to his unhap- 
piness, his despair. No wonder, no wonder, that like a can- 
ker it had eaten into his heart. Her father was certainly 
dying ; God himself was taking his punishment into His own 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


167- 

hands. Charlotte’s third fact, though the most absolutely 
personal of the whole, scarcely tortured her as the other two 
did to-night. It lay so clearly and so directly in her path, 
that there was no pausing how best to act. The way for ac- 
tion was too clear to be even for an instant disobeyed. Into 
this fire she must walk without hesitation or pause. Her 
wedding-day could not be on the twentieth ; her engage- 
ment must be broken off ; her marriage at an end. What ! 
she, the daughter of a thief, ally herself to an upright, honor- 
able man ! Never ! never 1 Whatever the consequences 
and the pain to either, Hinton and she must part. She did 
not yet know how this parting would be effected. She did 
not know whether she would say farewell to her lover telling 
him all the terrible and bitter disgrace, or with a poor and 
lame excuse on her lips. But however she did it, the thing 
must be done. Never, never, never would she drag the man 
she loved down into her depths of shame. 

To-night she scarcely felt the full pain of this. It was 
almost a relief, in the midst of all the chaos, to have this 
settled line of action around which no doubt must linger. 
Yes, she would instantly break off her engagement. Now 
she turned her thoughts to her two former facts. Her father 
was guilty. Her father was dying. She, in an underhand 
way, for which even now she hated herself had discovered 
her father’s long-buried crime. But she had not alone dis- 
covered it. Another had also gone to see that will in. 
Somerset House ; another with eyes far more practised than 
hers had read those fatal words. And that other, he could 
act. He would act ; he would expose the guilty and dying 
old man, for he was the other trustee. 

‘ Charlotte was very ignorant as to how the law would act 
with regard to such a crime as her father’s. Doubt- 
less there would be a public trial, a public disgrace. He 
would be dragged into the prisoner’s dock ; his old white 
head would be bowed low there, and he was a dying man. 

In the first shock and horror of finding that the father 
shO Jiad always almost worshipped could be guilty of such a 
terrible crime, a great rush of anger and almost hardness 
had steeled her heart against him ; but now tenderer feelings 
came back. Pity, sad-eyed and gentle, knocked at her 
heart, and when she let in pity, love quickly resumed its 
throne. Yes ; whatever his crime, whatever his former life, 
she loved that old man. That white-headed, broken-hearted 
man, so close to the grave, was her father, and she his only 


. 1 68 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


child. When she spoke to Sandy Wilson to-day she had 
felt no desire to save the guilty from his rightful fate. But 
now her feelings were different. A great cry arose in her 
heart on his behalf. Could she screen him? could she 
screen him from his fate ? In her agony she rose and flung 
herself on her knees. “ My God, help me ; my God, don’t 
forsake me ; save my father. Save him, save him, save 
him.” 

She felt a little calmer after this broken prayer, and 
something to do occurred to her with its instant power of 
tranquillizing. She would find out the doctor whom her 
father consulted. She would ask Uncle Jasper. She would 
make him tell her, and she would visit this man early in the 
morning, and, whatever the consequence, learn the exact 
truth from his lips. It would help her in her interview later 
on with Mr. Wilson. Beyond this little immediate course of 
action, there was no light whatever; but she felt so far 
calmed, that, about two o’clock, she lay down and sleep came 
to her — healthy and dreahiless sleep, which was sent direct 
from God to put strength into the brave heart, to enable it 
to suffer and endure. Many weeks before Mr. Home had 
said to Charlotte Harman, “You must keep the Christ 
bright within you.” Was His likeness to shine henceforth 
through all the rest of her life, in those frank eyes, that sweet 
face, that noble woman’s heart, because of and through that 
great tribulation. We have heard tell of the white robes 
which they wear who go through it. Is it not worth while 
for so sacred a result to heat the furnace seven times ? 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE DOCTOR’S VERDICT. 

In her terrible anger and despair Charlotte had almost 
forgotten Uncle Jasper; but when she came down to break- 
fast the following morning and saw him there, for he had 
come to Prince’s Gate early, and was standing with her father 
on the hearthrug, she . suddenly remembered that he too 
must have been guilty ; nay, worse, her father had never 
tried to deceive her, and Uncle Jasper had. She remem- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


169 

bered the lame story he had told her about Mrs. Home ; 
how fully -she had. believed that story, and how it had com- 
forted her heart at the time ! Now she saw clearly its many 
flaws, and wondered at her own blindness. Charlotte had 
always been considered an open creature — one so frank, so 
ingenuous, that her secrets, had she ever tried to have any, 
might be read like an open book ; but last night she had 
learned to dissemble. She was glad when she entered the 
cheerful breakfast-room to find that she was able to put her 
hardly learned lesson in practice. Knowing what she did, 
she could yet go up and kiss her father, and allow her uncle 
to put his lips to her cheek. She certainly looked badly, but 
that was accounted for by the headache which she confessed 
still troubled her. She sat down opposite the tea-urn, and 
breakfast was got through in such a manner that Mr. Har- 
man noticed nothing particular to be wrong. He always 
drove to the City now in his own private carriage, and after 
he had gone Charlotte turned to Jasper. 

“Uncle Jasper,” she said, “you have deceived me.” 

“ Good heavens ! how, Charlotte ? ” said the old uncle. 

“ My father is very ill. You have given me to under- 
stand that there was nothing of serious consequence the mat- 
ter with him.” 

Uncle Jasper heaved a slight but still audible sigh of re- 
lief. . Was this all ? These fears he might even yet quiet. 

“ I have not deceived you, Charlotte,” he said, “ for I do 
not believe your father to be seriously ill.” 

He fixed his keen gray eyes on her face as he spoke. She 
returned his gaze without shrinking. 

“ Still you do think him ill ? ” she said. 

“ Well, any one to look at him must admit that he is not 
what he was.” 

“Just so, Uncle Jasper. So you have told me very many 
times, when you have feared my troubling him on certain 
matters. Now it has come to me from another source that 
he is very ill. My eyes have been opened, and I see the 
fact myself. I wish to learn the simple and exact truth. I 
wish to see the doctor he has consulted.” 

“ How do you know he has consulted any ? ” 

“ Has he ? ” 

Uncle Jasper was silent for a moment. He felt in a diffi- 
culty. Did Charlotte know the worst, she might postpone 
her marriage, the last thing to be desired just now ; and yet 
where had she got her information? It was awkward 


I/O IV IT ALL CAME ROUlVB. 


17 6 

enough, though he felt a certain sense of relief in thus ac- 
counting for the change in her appearance since yesterday 
morning. He got up and approached her side softly.. 

“ My dear, I do own that your father is ill. I own, too, 
that I have, by his most express wish, made as light of the 
matter to yo.u as I could. The fact is, Charlotte, he is 
anxious, very anxious, about himself. He thinks himself 
much worse than I believe him to be ; but his strongest de- 
sire is, that now, on the eve of your marriage, you should not 
be alarmed on his account. I firmly believe you have no 
cause for any special fear. Ought you not to respect his 
wishes, and rest satisfied without seeking to know more than 
he and I tell you ? I will swear, Charlotte, if that is any 
consolation to you, that I am not immediately anxious about 
your father.” 

“ You need not swear, Uncle Jasper. Your not being 
anxious does not prevent my being so. I am determined to 
find out the exact truth. If he thinks himself very ill he 
has, of course, consulted some medical man. If you will not 
tell me his name I will myself ask- my father to do so to- 
night.” 

“ By so doing you will shock him, and the doctor does not 
wish him to be shocked.” 

“Just so, Uncle Jasper, and you can spare him that by 
telling me what you know.” 

“ My dear niece, if you will have it ? ” 

“ I certainly am quite resolved, uncle.” 

“ Well, well, you approach this subject at your peril. If 
you must see the doctor you must. Wilful woman over 
again. Would you" like me to go with you ? ” 

“ No, thank you ; I prefer to go alone. What is the 
doctor’s name ? ” 

“ Sir George Anderson, of B Street.” 

“ I will go to him at once,” said Charlotte. 

She left the room instantly, though she heard her uncle 
calling her back. Yes, she would go to Sir George at once. 
She pulled out her watch, ran upstairs, put on some out-door 
dress, and in ten minutes from the time she had learned the 
name of the great physician was in a hansom driving to his 
house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presently she 
arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. 
He was engaged for the present with another patient, but if 
Charlotte liked to wait he would see her in her turn. Cer- 
tainly she would wait. She gave her card to the man who 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


I 7 I 

admitted her, and was shown into a room, very dark and dis- 
mal, where three or four patients were already enduring a 
time of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, 
knowing nothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of 
doctors’ rooms. A sense of added depression came over her 
as she seated herself on the nearest chair, and glanced, from 
the weary and suffering faces of those who waited anxiously 
for their doom, to the periodicals and newspapers piled on 
the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the 
last number of the Illustrated London News. She took it, 
turning the pages mechanically. To her dying day she never 
got over the dislike , to that special paper which that half hour 
created. 

One by one the patients’ names were called by the grave 
footman as he came to summon them. One bygone they 
went away, and at last, at last, Charlotte’s turn came. She 
had entered into conversation with a little girl of about six- 
teen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the little girl 
had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte 
felt more than ever that against his opinion there could be 
no appeal. And now at last she was in the great man’s 
presence, and, healthy girl that she was, her heart beat so 
loud, and her face grew so white, that the practised eyes of 
the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking her for 
a bona-fide patient. 

“ What are you suffering from ? ” he asked of her. 

“ It is not myself, Sir George,” she said, then making a 
great effort to control her voice — “ I have come about my 
father — my father is one of your patients. His name is 
Harman.” 

Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it 
at a certain page, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, 
fixed his keen eyes on the young lady. 

“You are right,” he said, “your father, Mr. Harman, is 
one of my patients. He came to see me no later than last 
week.” 

“ Sir,” said Charlotte', and her voice grew steadier and 
braver as she spoke, “ I am in perfect health, and my father 
is ill. I have come here to-day to learn from .your lips the 
exact truth as to his case.” 

“ The exact truth ? ” said the doctor. “ Does your father 
know you have come here, Miss — Miss Harman ? ” 

“ He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and 
I am his only child. He has endeavored to keep this thing 


172 


HOW IT A EL CAME ROUND. 


from me, and hitherto has partially succeeded. Yesterday, 
through another source, I learned that he is very seriously 
ill. I have come to you to know the truth. You will tell it 
to me, will you not ? ” 

“ I certainly can tell it to you.’’ 

“ And you will ? ” 

“ Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you 
should not know. I am scarcely prepared to fathom your 
strength of character. Any shock will be of serious conse- 
quence to him. How can I tell how you will act when you 
know all ? ” 

“ You are preparing me for the worst now, Sir George. I 
solemnly promise you in no way to use my knowledge so as 
to give my father the slightest shock.” 

“ I believe you,” answered the doctor. “ A brave woman 
can do wonders. Women are unselfish; they can hide their 
own feelings to comfort and succor another. Miss Harman, 
I am sorry for you, I have bad news for you.” 

“ I know it, Sir George. My father is very ill.” 

“Your father is as seriously ill as a man can be to be 
alive ; in short, he is — dying.” 

“ Is there no hope ? ” ' 

“ None.” 

“Must he die soon?” asked Charlotte, after a brief 
pause. 

“ That depends. His malady is of such a nature that any 
sudden shock, any sudden grief will probably kill him in- 
stantly. If his mind is kept perfectly calm, and all shocks are 
kept from him, he may live for many months.” 

“ Oh ! terrible ! ” cried Charlotte. 

She covered her face. When she raised it at last it 
looked quite haggard and old. 

“ Sir Georgfe,” she said, “ I do not doubt that in your 
position as. a doctor you have come across some secrets. I 
am going to confide in you, to confide in you to a certain 
measure.” 

“Your confidence shall be sacred, my dear young lady.” 

“ Yesterday, Sir George, I learned something, something 
which concerns my father. It concerns him most nearly and 
most painfully. It relates to an old and buried wrong. This 
wrong relates to others ; it relates to those now living most 
nearly and most painfully.” 

“ Is it a money matter ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ It is a money matter. My -father alone can set it right. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


l 73 

I mean that during his lifetime it cannot possibly in any way 
be set right without his knowledge. Almost all my life, he 
has kept this thing a secret from me and — and — from the 
world. For three and twenty years it has lain in a grave. If 
he is told now, and the wrong cannot be repaired without 
his knowledge, it will come on him as a — disgrace. The 
question I ask of you is this : can he bear the disgrace ? ” 

“ And my answer to you, Miss Harman, is, that in his 
state of health the knowledge you speak of will instantly kill 
him.” 

“ Then — then — God help me ! what am I to do ? Can 
the wrong never be righted ? ” 

“ My dear young lady, I am sincerely sorry for you. I 
cannot enter into the moral question, I can only state a fact. 
As your father’s physician I forbid you to tell him.” 

“You forbid me to tell him? ” said Charlotte. She got 
up and pulled down her veil. “ Thank you,” she said, holding 
out her hand. “ I have that to go on — as my father’s phy- 
sician you forbid him to know ? ” 

“ I forbid it absolutely. Such a knowledge would cause 
instant death.” 


\ 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

PUZZLED. 

The old Australian Alexander Wilson, had left his niece, 
Charlotte Home, after his first interview with her, in a very 
disturbed state of mind. More disturbed indeed was he 
than by the news of his sister’s death. He was a rich man 
now, having been successful in the land of his banishment, 
and having returned to his native land the possessor of a 
moderate fortune. He had never married, and he meant to 
live with Daisy and share his wealth with her. But in these 
day-dreams he had only thought of his money as giving some 
added comforts to his rich little sister, enabling her to have a 
house in London for the season, and, while living in the 
country, to add more horses to her establishment and more 
conservatories to build and tend. His money should add to 
her luxuries and, consequently, to her comforts. He had 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


174 

never heard of this unforgotten sister for three and twenty 
years, the strange dislike to write home having grown upon 
him as time went on but though he knew nothing about her, 
he many a time in his own wild and solitary life pictured her as 
he saw her last. Daisy never grew old to him. Death and 
Daisy were not connected. Daisy in his imagination was 
always young, always girlish always fresh and beautiful. He 
saw "her as he saw her last in her beautiful country home 
standing by her rich husband’s side, looking more like his 
daughter than his wife. No, Sandy never dreamed that Daisy 
would or could die, but in thinking of her he believed her to 
be a widow. That husband, so old, when he went away; 
must be dead. 

On his arrival in England, Sandy went down into Hert- 
fortshire. He visited the place where he had last seen his 
sister. It was in the hands of strangers — sold long ago. No 
one even remembered the name of Harman. Then he met 
little Daisy Home, and learned quite by accident that his 
Daisy was dead, and that the pretty child who reminded him 
of her was her grandchild. He went to visit Charlotte Home, 
and there made a fresh discovery. Had his Daisy been alive 
she would have wanted far more from his well-filled purse 
than horses and carriages. She would have needed not the 
luxuries of life, but the necessities. He had imagined her 
rich, while she had died in poverty. She had died poor, and 
her child, her only child, bore evident marks of having met 
face to face with the sbrest of all whrit, that which attacks 
the gently born. Her face, still young, but sadly thin and 
worn, the very look in her eyes told this fact to Sandy. 

Yes ; his pretty Daisy, whom he had imagined so rich, 
so bountifully provided for, had died" a very poor and strug- 
gling woman. Doubtless this sad and dreadful fact had 
shortened her days. Doubtless but for this monstrous 
injustice she would be alive now, ready to welcome her long- 
lost brother back to his native' land. 

All that night Sandy Wilson lay awake. He was a hale 
and hearty man, and seldom knew what it was to toss for 
any time on. his pillow ; but so shocked was he, that this 
night no repose would visit him. An injustice had been 
done, a fraud committed, and it remained for him to find 
out the evil thing, to drag it to the light, to set the wronged 
right once more. Charlotte Home was not at all the character 
he could best understand. She was not in the least like her 
mother. She told the tale of her wrongs with a strange and 


NOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


m 

manifest reluctance. She believed that a fraud had been 
committed. She was fully persuaded that-not her long-dead 
father but her living half-brothers were the guilty parties. In 
this belief Sandy most absolutely shared. He longed to 
drag these villains into the glaring light of justice, to expose 
them and their disgraceful secret to. the shameful light of 
day. But in this longing he saw plainly that Charlotte did 
not share. He was puzzled, scarcely pleased that this was 
so. How differently little Daisy would have acted had 
she been alive. Dear little innocent Daisy, who all alone' 
could do nothing, would in his strong presence have grown 
so brave and fearless. She would have put the case 
absolutely and once for all into his hands.- Now this her 
daughter did not seem disposed to do. She said to him, 
with most manifest anxiety, “ You will do nothing -without ' 
me. You will do nothing until we meet again. ” 

This he had promised readily enough, for what could he 
do in the short hours which must elapse between now and 
their next meeting? As he was dressing, however, on the 
following morning, a sudden idea did occur to him, and on 
this idea he resolved to act before he saw Charlotte at six 
o’clock in the evening. He would go to Somerset House 
and see Mr. Harman’s will. What Daisy first, and now 
Charlotte, had never thought of doing during all these years 
he would do that very day. Thus he would gain certain and 
definite information. With this information it would be 
comparatively easy to know best how to act. 

He went to Somerset House. He saw the will ; he saw 
the greatness of the robbery committed so many years ago ; 
he saw and he felt a Wild kind of almost savage delight in the 
fact that he could quickly and easily set the wrong right, for 
he was one of the trustees. He saw all this, and yet — and 
yet — he went away a very unhappy and perplexed man, for 
he had seen something else — he had seen a woman’s agony 
and despair. Sandy Wilson possessed the very softest soul 
that had ever been put into a big body. He never could 
bear to see even a dog in pain. How then could he look at 
the face of this girl which, all in a moment, under his very 
eyes, had been blanched with agony ? He could not bear it. 
He forgot his fierce longing for revenge, he forgot his niece 
Charlotte’s wrongs, in this sudden and passionate desire to 
succor the other Charlotte, the daughter of the bad man 
who had robbed his own sister, his own niece ; he became' 
positively anxious that Miss Harman should not commit her- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


176 

self ; he felt a nervous fear as each word dropped from her 
lips ; he saw that she spoke in the extremity of despair. 
How could he stop the words which told too much ? He 
was relieved when the thought occurred to him to ask her 
to meet him again — again when they both were calmer. She 
had consented, and he found himself advising her, as he 
would have advised his own dear daughter had he been 
lucky enough to have possessed one. He promised her that 
nothing, nothing should be done until they met again, and so 
afraid was he that in his interview that evening with his niece, 
Mrs. Home, he might be tempted to drop some word which 
might betray ever so little that other Charlotte, that instead 
of going to Tremin’s Road as he had intended, he wrote a 
note excusing himself and putting off his promised visit until 
the following evening. 


CHAPTER XL. 
charlotte’s j>lea. 

When at last the time drew near for him to bend his 
steps in the direction of Somerset House he ha^l by no means 
made up his mind how to act. His sympathies were still 
with Miss Harman. Her face had haunted him all night 
long ; but he felt that every sense of justice, every sense of 
right, called upon him to befriend Mrs. Home. His dearly 
loved dead sister seemed to call to him from her grave 
and to ask him to rescue those belonging to her, to give 
again to these wronged ones what was rightfully theirs. 
In any case, seeing the wrong as he so plainly did, he 
would have felt called upon to take his sister’s part in the 
matter. But as circumstances now stood, even had Mrs. 
Home been no relation to him whatever, he still must 
have acted for her and her alone. For was he not the 
other trustee ? and did not the very law of the land of his 
birth demand that he should see that the ; terms of the will 
were carried out ? 

He arrived at the square of Somerset House, and found 
Miss Harman waiting for him. 

She came up to him at once and held out her hand. His 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 


177 


quick eye detected at a glance that she was now quite calm 
and collected, that whatever she might have done in the first 
agony of her despair yesterday, to-day she would do nothing 
to betray herself. Strange to say, he liked her far less well 
in this mood than he had done yesterday, and his heart and 
inclination veered round again to his wronged niece and her 
children with a sense of pleasure and almost triumph. 

They began to walk up and down, and Miss Harman, 
finding that her companion was silent, was the first to 
speak. 

“ You asked me to meet you here to-day. What do you 
want to say to me ? ” 

Good heavens ! was she going to ride the high horse over 
him in this style ? Sandy’s small eyes almost flashed as he 
turned to look at her. 

“ A monstrous wrong has been done, Miss Harman,” he 
answered. “ I have come to talk about that.” 

“ I know,” replied Charlotte. “ I have thought it all out. 
I know exactly what has been done. My grandfather died 
and left a sum of twelve hundred a year to my — to his wife. 
He left other moneys to my father and his brother. My 
father and his brother, my uncle, disregarded the claims of 
the widow and the orphan child. They appropriated the 
mo ney — they — stole it — giving to my grandfather’s widow a 
small sum during her life, which small sum they did not even 
allow to be retained by her child.” 

“ That is pretty much the case, young lady. You have 
read the will with tolerable accuracy.” 

“ I do not know in the least /how the deed was done,” 
continued Charlotte. “ How such a cfime could be com- 
mitted and yet lie hidden all these years remains a terrible 
and mysterious thing to me. But that it was done, I can but 
use my own eyes in reading my grandfather’s will to see. 

“It was done easily* enough, Miss Harman. lhey 
thought the other trustee was dead. Your father and his 
brother were false to their trust, and they never reckoned that 
Sandy Wilson would come back all alive and blooming 
one fine morning — Sandy, whose duty it is to see this great 
wrong put right.” 

“ Yes, it is your duty,” said Charlotte ; and now, again, 
she grew very white ; her eyes sought the ground and she 
was silent. 

“ it is my most plain duty,” repeated Wilson, shuffling 
with his great feet as he walked by her side. 


tyS HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

“ I should like to know what steps you mean to take,” 
continued Charlotte, suddenly raising her eyes to his face. 

“ Steps ! Good gracious ! young lady, I have not had 
time to go into the law of the thing. Besides, I promised to 
do nothing until we met again. But one thing is plain 
enough, and obvious enough — my niece, that young woman who 
might have been rich, but who is so poor — that young woman 
must come in for her own again. It is three-and-twenty 
years since her father died. She must receive from your 
father that money with all back interest for the last three 
and twenty years. That means a goodish bit of money I can 
tell you.” 

“ I have no doubt it does,” replied Charlotte. “ Mrs. 
Home shall have it all.” 

“ Well, I hope so, young lady, and soon, too. It seems to 
me she has had her share of poverty.” 

“ She has had, as you say, her share of that evil. Mr. 
Wilson,” again raising her eyes to his face, “ I know Mrs. 
Home.” 

“ You know her ? You know my niece Charlotte person- 
ally ? She did not tell me that.” 

“Yes, I know her. I should like to see her now.” 

“ You would ? — I am surprised ! Why ? ” 

“ That I might go down on my knees to her.” 

“Well, good gracious ! young lady, I supposed you might 
feel sorry, but I did not know you would humble yourself to 
that extent. It was not your sin.” 

“ Hush ! It was my father’s sin. I hm his child. I 
would go lower than my knees — I would lie on the ground 
that she might walk oVer me, if the better in that position I 
might plead for mercy.”' 

“ For mercy ? Ay, that’s all very well, but Charlotte 
must have her rights. Sandy Wilson must see to that.” 

“ She shall have her rights ! And yet I would see her if 
I could, and if I saw her I would go on my knees and plead 
for mercy.” 

“ I don’t understand you, Miss Harman.” 

“ I do not suppose you do. Will you have patience with 
me while I explain myself ? ” 

# “ I have come here to talk to. you and to listen to you,” 
said Wilson. 

“ Sir, I must tell you of my father, that man whom you 
(and I do not wonder) consider so bad — so low ! When I 
read that will yesterday — when I saw with my own eyes 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


1 79 

what a fraud had been committed, what a great, great evil 
had been done, I felt in my first misery that I almost hated 
my father ! I said to myself, ‘ Let him be punished ! ’ I 
would have helped you then to bring him to punishment. I 
think you saw that ? ” 

“ I did, Miss Harman. I can see as far through a stone 
wall as most people. I saw that you were a bit stunned, and 
I thought it but fair that you should have time to calm 
down.” 

“ You we‘re kind tome. You acted as a good man and a 
gentleman. Then I scarcely cared what happened to my 
father ; now I ^lo.” 

" Ay, ay, young lady, natural feelings must return, I am 
very sorry for you.” 

“ Mr. Wilson, I hope to make you yet more sorry. I must 
tell you more. When I saw you yesterday I knew that iny 
father was ill — I knew that he was in appearance an old man, 
a broken down man, a very unhappy man; but since I saw 
you yesterday I have learned that he is a dying man — that 
old man against whom I hardened my heart so yesterday is 
going fast to judgment. The knowledge of this was kept 
from me, for my father so loved me, so guarded me all my 
life that he could not bear that even a pin’s point of sorrow 
should rest upon me. After seeing you yesterday, and 
leaving you, I visited some poor people who, not knowing 
that the truth was hidden from me, spoke of it as a well 
known fact. I went away from them with my eyes opened. 
I only wondered they had been closed so long. I went away, 
and this morning I did more. I visited one of the greatest 
and cleverest doctors in London. This doctor my father, 
unknown to me, had for some time consulted. I asked him 
for his candid opinion on my father’s case. He gave it to 
me. Nothing can save my father. My father must die ! But 
he told me more ; he said that the nature of his complaint 
was such that any shock must instantly kill him. He said 
without that shock he may live for months ; not many months, 
but still for a few. Hearing this, I took the doctor still fur- 
ther into my confidence. I told him that a wrong had been 
committed — that during my father’s, lifetime that wrong 
could not be set right without his knowledge. I said that he 
must know something which would disgrace him. His answer 
was this : ‘As his medical man, I forbid him to know ; such 
a knowledge will cause certain and instant death.’ ” 


!8o how it all came round. 

Charlotte paused. Wilson, now deeply interested, even 
appalled, was gazing at her earnestly. 

“ I know Charlotte Home,” continued Miss Harman ; 
“and, as I said just now, I would see her now. Yes, she has 
needed money ; she has longed for money ; she has been 
cruelly wronged — most cruelly treated ! Still, I think, if I 
pleaded long enough and hard enough, she would have mercy ; 
she would not hurry that old man to so swift a judgment ; 
she would spare him for those few, few months to which his 
life is now limited. It is for those months I plead. He is a 
dying man. I want nothing to be done during those months. 
Afterwards — afterwards I will promise, if necessary sign any 
legal paper you bring to me, that all that should have been hers 
shall be Charlotte Home’s — I restore it all ! Oh, how swiftly 
and how gladly ! All I plead for are those few months.” 

Wilson was silent. 

Charlotte suddenly looking at him almost lost her self- 
control. 

“ Must I go down on my knees to you, sir ? I will if it 
is necessary. I will here — even here do so, if it is neces- 
sary.” 

“It is not, it is not, my dear Miss Harman. I believe 
you ; from my soul I pity you ! I will do what I can. I 
can’t promise anything without my niece’s permission ; but I 
am to see her this evening.” 

“ Oh, if you plead with her, she will have mercy ; for I 
know her — I am sure of her ! Oh ! how can I thank you ? — 
how can I thank you both ? ” 

Here some tears rose to Charlotte’s eyes, and rolled fast 
and heavily down her cheeks. She put up her handkerchief 
to wipe them away. 

“ You asked me to cry yesterday, but I could not; now I 
believe I shall be able,” she said with almost a smile. “ God 
bless you ! ” 

Before Wilson could get in another word she had left him 
and, hifrrying through the square, was lost to sight. 

Wilson gazed after her retreating form ; then he went 
into Somerset House, and once more long and carefully 
studied Mr. Harman’s will. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 


iSl 




CHAPTER XLI. 

NO WEDDING ON THE TWENTIETH. 

Charlotte was quite right in saying that now she could 
cry ; a great tension had been removed, an immediate agony 
lightened. From the time she had left the doctor’s presence 
until she had met Sandy Wilson, most intolerable had been 
her feelings. She would sink all pride when she saw him ; 
for her father’s sake, she would plead for mercy ; but know- 
ing nothing of the character of the man, how could she tell 
that she would be successful ? How could she tell that he 
might not harden his heart against her plea ? When she left 
him, however, she knew that her cause was won. Charlotte 
Home was to be the arbitrator of her fate ; she had never in 
all her life seen such a hunger for money in any eyes as she 
had done in Charlotte’s, and yet she felt a moral certainty 
that with Charlotte she was safe. In the immediate relief of 
this she could cry, and those' tears were delicious to her. 
Returning from her drive, and in the solitude of her own 
room, she indulged in them, weeping on until no more tears 
would flow. They took the maddening pressure of heart and 
brain, and after them she felt strong and even calm. She 
had washed her face and smoothed her hair, and though she 
could not at once remove all trace of the storm through 
which she had just passed, she still looked better than she 
had done at breakfast that morning, when a tap came to her 
door, and Ward, her maid, waited outside. 

“ If you please, Miss Harman, the dressmaker has called 
again. Will you have the wedding dress fitted now ? ” 

At the same instant and before Charlotte could reply, a 
footman appeared at the head of the stairs — “ Mr. Hinton 
had arrived and was waiting for Miss Harman, in her own 
sitting-room.” 

“ Say, I will be with him directly,” she answered to the 
man, then she turned to Ward. “ I will send you with a 
message to the dressmaker this evening ; tell her I am en- 
gaged now.” 

Th$ two messengers left, and Charlotte turned back into 


182 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


her room. She had to go through another fire. Well ! the 
sooner it was over the better. She scarcely would give her- 
self time for any thought as she ran quickly down the stairs 
and along the familiar corridor, and in a moment found her- 
self in Hinton’s presence. They had not met since yesterday 
morning, when they -had parted in apparent coldness ; but 
Hinton had long forgotten it, and now, when he saw her face, 
a great terror of pity and love came over him. 

“ My darling ! my own darling ! ” he said. He came up 
to her and put his arms round her. “ Charlotte, what is it ? 
You are in trouble ? Tell me.” 

“ Ah ! how sweet it was to feel the pressure of his arms, 
to lay her head on his breast. She was silent for quite a 
minute, saying to herself, “ It is for the last time.” 

“ You are in great trouble, Charlotte ? Charlotte, 
what is it ? ” questioned her lover. 

“ Yes, I am in great trouble,” she said then, raising her 
head and looking at him. Her eyes were clear and frank 
and open as of old, and yet at that moment she meant to 
deceive him ; she would not tell him the real reason which 
induced her to break off her engagement. She would shelter 
her father in the eyes of the man she loved, at any cost. 

“ You are in great trouble,” he repeated, seeing that she 
paused. 

“ Yes, John — for myself — for my father — for — for you. 
Dear John, we cannot be married on the twentieth, we must 
part.” 

^ Charlotte ! ” he stepped back a pace or two in his 
astonishment, and her arms fell heavily to her sides. 
“Charlotte!” he repeated; he had failed to understand 
her. He gave a short laugh. 

She began to tremble when she heard him laugh, and 
seeing a chair near; she sunk into it. “ Yes, John, we must 
part,” she repeated. 

He went down on his knees then by her side, and looked 
into her face. “ My poor darling, you are really not well ; 
you are in trouble, and don’t know what you are saying. 
Tell me all your trouble, Charlotte, but don’t mind those 
other words. It is impossible that you and I can part. Have 
we not plighted our troth before God ? We cannot take 
that back. Therefore we cannot part.” 

“ In heart we may be one, but outwardly we must part,” 
she repeated, and then she began to cry feebly, for she was 
all unstrung. Hinton’s words were too much for her. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


183 

u Tell me all,” he said then, very tenderly. 

“ John, a dark thing was kept from me, but I have dis- 
covered it. My father is dying. ’How can I marry on the 
twentieth, when my father is* dying ? ” 

Hinton instantly felt a sense of relief* Was this all the 
meaning of this great trouble ? This objection meant, at the 
most, postponement, scarcely that, when Charlotte knew all. 

“ How did you learn that about your father ? ” he said. 

“ I went to see some poor people yesterday, and they 
told me ; but that was not enough. To-day I visited the 
great doctor. My father has seen Sir George Anderson ; he 
told me all. My father is a dying man, John, can you ask 
me to marry when my father is dying ? ” 

“ I could not, Charlotte, if it were not his own wish.” 

*• His own wish ? ” she repeated. 

“ Yes ! some time ago he told me of this ; he said the 
one great thing he longed for was to see you and me — you 
‘ and me, my own Charlotte — husband and wife, before he died.” 

“ Why did he keep his state of health as a secret from 
me ? ” 

“I begged of him to tell you, but he wanted you to be 
his own bright Charlotte to the end.” 

Then Hinton told her of that first interview he had with 
her father. He told it well, but she hardly listened. Must 
she tell him the truth after all ? No ! she would not. During 
her father’s life-time she would shield him at any cost. After- 
wards, ah ! afterwards ah the world would know. 

When Hinton had ceased speaking, she laid her hand on 
his arm. “ Nevertheless, my darling, I cannot marry next 
week. I know you will fail to understand me. I know my 
father will fail to understand me. That is hard — the hard- 
est part, but I am doing right. Some day you will acknowl- 
edge that. With my father dying I cannot stand up in white 
and call myself a bride. My marriage-day was to have been 
the entrance into Paradise to me. With a funeral so near, 
and so certain, it cannot be that. John — John — I — cannot 
— I cannot. We must not marry next week.” 

“ You put it off, then ? You deny your dying father his 
deafest wish ? That is not like you, Charlotte.” 

“ No, it is unlike me. Everything, always, again, will be 
unlike me. If you put it so, I deny my father his dearest 
wish.” 

" Charlotte, I fail to understand you. You will aot marry 
during your father’s life-time. But it may be very quiet — very 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


184 

— very quiet, L can manage that ; and you need not leave 
him, you can still be altogether his daughter, and yet make 
him happy by letting him feel that you are also my wife ; 
that I have the right to shield you, the right to love and 
comfort you. Come, Charlotte ! come, my darling ! we won’t 
have any outward festivity, any outward rejoicing. This is 
but natural, this can be managed, and yet we may have that 
which is above and beyond it all — one another. We may be 
one in our sorrow instead of our joy.” 

“Oh! if it could be,” she sobbed; and now again she 
laid her head on his shoulder. 

“ It shall be, Charlotte ; we will marry like that on the 
twentieth. I will manage it with your father.” 

“No John! no, iny dearest, my best beloved, I cannot 
be your wife. Loving you as I never — never — loved you 
before, I give you up ; it is worse than the agony of death to 
me. But I give you up.” 

“ You postpone our marriage during your father’s life- 
time ? ” 

“ I postpone it — I do more — I break it off. Oh ! John, 
don’t look at me like that ; pity me — pity me, my heart will 
break.” 

But he had pushed her a little away from him. Pale as 
death he rose to his feet. “ Charlotte ! you are deceiving 
me ; you have another reason for this ? ” 

“ If you will have it so,” she said. 

“ You are keeping a secret from me.” 

“ I do not say so, but you are likely enough to think this,” 
she repeated. 

“ Can you deny it ? ” 

“ I will not try, I know we must part.” 

“ If this is so, we must. A secret between husband and 
wife is fatal.” 

“ It would be, but I admit nothing, we cannot be husband 
and wife.” 

“ Never, Charlotte ? ” 

“ Never ! ” she said. 

Hinton thought for a moment, and then he came up and 
again took her hand. “ Lottie, tell me that secret ; trust 
me ; I know there is a secret, tell it to me, all of it, let me 
decide whether it must part us.” 

“ I cannot, my darling — my darling — I can say nothing, 
explain nothing, except that you and I must part.” 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ^5 

“ If that is -so, we must,” he said. 

He was pained, shocked, and angry, beyond words. He 
left the room and the house without even another look. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

“ I LOVE HIM,” SHE ANSWERED. 

That evening Charlotte came softly into her father’s 
study and sat down by his side. She had not appeared at 
dinner-time, sending another excuse. She was not very well, 
she sgjd ; she would see her father later in the evening. But 
as she could not eat, she did not care to come to dinner. 
She would like to see her father quite alone afterwards. 
Charlotte had worded this verbal message with great care, 
for she wished to prepare her father for something of extra 
importance. Even with the tenderest watching it was im- 
possible to avoid disturbing him a little, and she wished to 
prepare him for the very slight but unavoidable shock she 
must give. Jasper dined at Prince’s Gate as usual. But 
after dinner he went away. And Charlotte, when she knew 
this, instantly went down to her father. She was now per- 
fectly calm. For the time being had forgotten herself 
absolutely. Nothing gives outward composure like self- 
forgetfulness, like putting yourself in your fellow-man’s place. 
Charlotte had done this when she stepped up to her old 
father’s side. She had dressed herself, too, with special 
thought for him. There was d. muslin frock, quite clear and 
simple, which he had loved. It was a soft Indian fabric, 
and clung to her fine figure in graceful folds. She had 
made Ward iron it out, and had put it on. Of late she had 
considered it too girlish, but to-night she appeared in it 
knowing it would please the eyes for which it was worn. 

Mr. Harman was chilly and sat by theTire. As usual the 
room was softly but abundantly lit by candles. Charlotte 
loved light, and, as a rule, hated to talk to any one without 
looking at that person fully. But to-night an opposite 
motive caused her to put out one by one all the candles. 

“ Does not the room look cosy with only the firelight ? ” 
she said. And then she sat down on a low stool at her 
father’s feet. 


i86 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


“ You are better now, my love. Tell me you are better,” 
he said, taking her hand in his. 

“ I am well enough to sit and talk to you, father,” she 
said. 

“ But what ailed you, Lottie? You could not come to 
dinner either yesterday or to-day; and I remember you 
looked ill this morning. What is wrong ? ” 

“ I felt troubled, and that has brought on a headache. 
But don’t let us talk about me. I mean, I suppose we must 
after a little, but not at first.” 

“ Whom shall we talk about first ? Who is more impor- 
tant ? Is jt Hinton ? You cannot get me to think that Char- 
lotte.” 

“ You are more important. I want to talk about you.” 

Now she got hold of his hand, and, turning round, gazed 
firmly into his face. 

“Father, you have troubled me. You have caused my 
headache.” 

Instantly a startled look came into his eyes ; and she, 
reading him now — as, alas ! she knew how to do but too well 
— hastened to soothe it. 

“You wanted to send me away, to- make me less your 
own, if that were possible. Father, I have come here to- 
night to tell you that I am not going away — that I am all 
your own, even to*the end.” 

“ My own to the end ? Yes, you must always be that. 
But what do you mean ? ” 

She felt the hand she held trembling, and hastened to 
add,-— 

“ Why did you keep the truth from me ? Why did you 
try to deceive me, your nearest and dearest, as to your state 
of health ? But I know it all now. I am not going away 
from you.” 

“You mean — you mean, Charlotte, you will not marry 
Hinton next week ” 

“ No, father.” 

\ “ Have you told him ? ” 

| “Yes.” 

“ Charlotte, do you know the worst about me ? ” 

“ I know all about you. I went to see Sir George An- 
derson this morning. I forced from him the opinion he has 
already given to you. He says that I cannot keep you long. 
But while I can, we will never part.” 

Mr. Harman’s hand had now ceased to tremble. It lay 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

warm and quiet in his daughter’s clasp. After a time he 
said— 

“ Put your arms round me darling.” 

She rose to her feet, clasped her hands round his neck, 
and laid her head on his shoulder. In this position he kissed 
first her bright hair, then her cheek and brow. 

“But I want my little girl to leave me,” he said. “ Ill- 
ness need not make me selfish. You can still be my one 
only dear daughter, and yet be Plinton’s wife.” 

“ I am your only dear daughter,” she repeated. “ Never 
mind about fhy being any man’s wife.” She tried to smile as 
she resumed her seat at his feet. 

Mr. Harman saw the attempt at a smile, and it instantly 
strengthened him to proceed. 

“ Charlotte, I am not sorry that you know that which I 
had not courage either to tell you or to cause another to tell 
you. I am — yes, I am dying. Some day before long I must 
leave you, my darling. I must go away and return no more. 
But before I die I want to see you Hinton’s wife. It will 
make me happier to see this, for you love him, and he can 
make you happy. You do love him, Charlotte ? ” 

“ Yes, I love him,” she answered. 

“ Then we will not postpone the marriage. My child 
shall marry the man she loves, and have the strength of his 
love in the dark days that must follow ; and in one week you 
will be back with me, no less my child because you are Hin- 
tons’s wife.” 

“ Father, I cannot.” 

“ Not if I wish it, dear — if I have set my heart on it ? ” 

“ I cannot,” she repeated. 

She felt driven to her wits’ end, and pressed her hands to 
her face. 

“ Charlotte, what is the meaning of this ? There is more 
here than meets the eye. Have you and Hinton quar- 
relled ? ” 

“ No, except over this. And even over this it takes two 
to make a quarrel. I cannot marry next week ; I have told him 
so. He is vexed, and you — you are vexed. Must I break 
my heart and leave you ? You have always given me my 
own way ; give it now. Don’t send me away from you. It 
would break my heart to marry and leave you now.” 

“ Is this indeed so, Charlotte ? ” he said. “ Would you 
with, your whole heart rather put it off ? ” 

‘‘With my whole, whole heart, I would rather,” she said. 


!g8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

“ I will not urge it. I cannot ; and yet it destroys a 
hope which I thought might cheer me on my dying bed.” 

“ Never mind the hope, father ; you will have me. I shall 
not spend that week away from you.” 

“ No, that week did seem long to look forward to.” 

“ Ah ! you are glad after all that I am to be with you,” 
she said. “You will let me nurse you and care for you. You 
will not force yourself to do more than you are able. Now 
that I know all, I can take such care of you, and the thought 
of that will make me happier by and by.” 

“ It is a relief that you know the worst, - ” said Mr. Har- 
man, but he did not smile or look contented ; he, as well as 
Hinton, felt that there was more in this strange desire of 
Charlotte’s than met the eye. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

“ YOU don’t want money ? ” 

Sandy Wilson having again very carefully read Mr. 
Harman’s will, felt much puzzled how to act. He was an 
honest, upright, practical man himself. The greatness of the 
crime committed quite startled him. He had no sympathy 
for the wicked men who had done the deed, and he had the 
very keenest sympathy for those against whom the deed was 
done. His little orphan and widowed sister and her baby 
child were the wronged ones. The men who had wronged 
• her he had never seen. He said to himself that he had no 
sympathy, no sympathy whatever for Mr. Harman. What if 
he was a dying man, was that fact to screen him ? Was he 
to be allowed to go down to his grave in peace, his gray head 
appearing to be to him a crown of glory, honored by the 
world, cheered for his great success in life ? Wa£ all this to 
be allowed to continue when he was worthy not of applause 
but of hisses, of the world’s most bitter opprobrium ? ” 

And yet Sandy felt that, little or indeed no pity as he had 
for this most wicked man, even if Charlotte had not come to 
him and pleaded with eyes, voice, and manner he could 
scarcely have exposed Mr. Harman. He could scarcely, after 
hearing that great doctor’s verdict, have gone up to the old 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

man and said that which would hurry him without an instant’s 
time for repentance, to judgment. 

Alexander Wilson believed most fully in a judgment to 
come. When he thought of it now, a certain sense of relief 
came over him. He need not trouble so sorely ; he might 
leave this sinner to his God. It is to be feared that he 
thought more of God’s justice than of His loving mercy and 
forgiveness, as he decided to leave John Harman in His 
hands. 

That evening at six o’clock he was to be again with Char- 
lotte Home. For Charlotte Harman’s sake, he had denied 
himself that pleasure the night before ; but this evening the 
solitary man might enjoy the keen pleasure of being with his 
very own. Mrs. Home was his nearest living relation — the 
child of his own loved sister. He did not know yet whether 
he could love her at all as he had loved his little Daisy ; but 
he felt quite sure that her children would twine themselves 
round his heart ; for already the remembrance of Daisy 
Home was causing it to beat high* with pleasure. 

As the hour approached for his visit, he loaded himself 
with presents not only for the children, but for the whole 
family. He said to himself with much delight, that however 
much Mr. Harman’s will might be tied up for the present, 
yet Sandy Wilsbn’s purse was open. He had far less idea 
than Charlotte Harman what children really liked, but he 
loaded himself with toys, cakes, and sweeties ; and for his 
special pet Daisy over and above the other two he bought 
the very largest doll that a Regent Street shop could furnish 
him with. This doll was as heavy as a baby, and by no 
means so beautiful to look at as its smaller companions. But 
Sandy was no judge in such matters. 

With his presents for the adults of the party he was more 
fortunate. For his niece he purchased a black silk, which 
in softness, lustre, and quality could not be surpassed ; for 
Mr. Home he bought two dozen very old port ; for Anne, a 
bright blue merino dress. 

These goods were packed into a four-wheeler, and, punc- 
tually at six o’clock, that well-laden cab drew up at io, Tremins 
Road. Three eager pairs of eyes watched the unpacking, 
for the three pretty children, dressed in their best, were in 
the dining-room ; Mr. Home was also present, and Charlotte 
had laid her tea-table with several unwonted dainties in hon- 
or of her uncle’s visit. Anne, the little maid, was fluttering 
about ; that well-laden cab had raised her spirits and her 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


190 

hopes. She flew in and out, helping the cabby to bring the 
numerous parcels into the hall. 

“Ah! Annie, my girl, here’s something for you,” said 
Uncle Sandy, tossing her dress to her. After which, it is to 
be feared, Anne went off her head for a little bit. 

The children, headed by their mother, came into the little 
hall to meet and welcome their uncle. He entered the din- 
ing-room with Daisy riding on his shoulder. Then before 
tea could even be thought of, the presents must be discussed. 
The cakes, the sweeties, the toys were opened out ; the chil- 
dren scampered about, laughed, shouted, and kissed the old 
Australian. Never in all his life had Uncle Sandy felt so 
happy. 

Over an hour passed in this way, then the mother’s firm 
voice was heard. The little heads were raised obediently. 
Good-night kisses were given, and Harold, Daisy, and little 
Angus were led off to their nursery by the highly flushed and 
excited Anne. 

The tea which followed and the quiet talk were nearly as 
pleasant, and Uncle Sandy so enjoyed himself, that for a 
time he completely forgot old Harman’s will, his own half 
promise, Charlotte Harman’s despair. 

It was all brought back to him, however, and by the 
Homes themselves. The tea things had been removed, the 
gas was lit, the curtains drawn, and Charlotte Home had in- 
sisted on her old uncle seating himself in the one easy-chair 
which the room possessed. She herself stood on the hearth- 
rug, and glancing for a moment at her husband she spoke. 

“ Uncle Sandy, it is so good to have you back again, and 
Angus and I are so truly glad to welcome my dear mother’s 
brother to our home, that we think it hard to have to touch 
on anything the least gloomy to-night. Just a word or two 
will be sufficient, and then we must drop the subject for 
ever.” 

Uncle Sandy raised his wrinkled old face. 

“ Ah,” he said. “ If there’s anything unpleasant, have it 
out by all means — out and over — that’s my own motto.” 

“ We spoke the other night,” continued Charlotte, “ about 
my dear mother. I told you that she was poor — that she had 
to do with poverty, from the hour of my father’s death until the 
end of her own life. It is all over for her now, she is at rest. 
If plenty of money could be found for her she would not need 
it. When I told you the story you expressed a doubt that all 
was not right ; you said it was absolutely impossible that my 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


191 

father could have left my mother nothing ; you said that 
either the will was tampered with or not acted on. Well, 
Uncle Sandy, I agree with you. I had long felt that some- 
thing was not right.” ' 

“Ay, ay, my girl ; I said before, you had a brain in your 
head and a head on your shoulders. Trust Uncle Sandy not 
to know a clever woman wfyen he sees her.” 

“Well, uncle, 'I can say all the rest in a very few words. 
You said you could investigate the matter ; that you could 
discover whether any foul play had been committed. I asked 
you not to do scu until I saw you again ; I now ask you not 
to do so at all ; to let the whole matter rest always. In this 
I have my husband’s sanction and wish.” 

“Yes, Lottie has my full approval in this matter,” said 
Mr. Home, coming forward and laying his hand on his wife’s 
shoulder. “We don’t want money, we would rather let the 
matter rest.” 

“ You don’t want money ! ” said Uncle Sandy , gazing hard 
from the ethereal wornlooking man, to the woman, tall and 
thin, in her rusty dress, with every mark of poverty showing 
in thin cheek, in careworn eyes, in labor-stained hands. 
_“ You don’t want money ! ” he repeated. “ Niece Charlotte, 
I retract what I said of you — I thought you were not quite a 
fool. As to you, Home, I don't pretend to understand you. 
You don’t want money ? ” - 

Mr. Home smiled. Charlotte bent down and kissed her 
old uncle’s brow. 

“ Nevertheless, you will do what we wish, even though 
you don’t understand,” she said. 

Uncle Sandy took her hand. 

“Sit down near me, Niece Charlotte,” he said. “And 
as to you, Home, you have a long story to hear. After you 
have heard it, it will be time enough to discuss your proposi- 
tion. The fact is, Charlotte, I disobeyed you in part. You 
asked me to do nothing in this matter until we met again. I 
did nothing to compromise you ; but, nevertheless, I was not 
idle, I wanted to set my own mind at rest. There was an 
easy way of doing this which I knew of, and which" I won- 
dered had not occurred to you. Charlotte, I went yesterday 
to Somerset House ; doubtless, you know r nothing of what 
took me there. I can soon enlighten you. In a certain 
part of that vast pile, all wills are obliged to be kept. Any 
one who likes may go there, and, by paying the sum of one 


192 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


shilling, read any will they desire. I did so. I went to Som- 
erset House and I saw your father’s will.” 

“ Yes,” said Charlotte. Whatever her previous resolution, 
she no doubt felt keenly excited now. “ Yes,” she repeated, 
“ you read my father’s will.” 

“ I read it. I read it in a hurry yesterday ; to-day I saw 
it again and read it carefully. There is no flaw in it ; it is a 
will that must stand, that cannot be disputed. Charlotte, you 
were right in your forebodings. Niece Charlotte, you and 
your mother, before you, were basely robbed, cruelly wronged ; 
your dead father was just and upright ; your living brothers 
are villains ; your father left, absolutely to your mother 
first, and to you at her death, the sum of twelve hundred a 
year. He left to you both a large enough sum of money to 
realize that large yearly income. You were robbed of it. 
Do you know how ? ” 

“ No,” said Charlotte. She said that one little word 
almost in a whisper. Her face was deadly pale. 

“ That money was left in your father’s will in trust ; it 
was confided to the care of three men, whose .solemn duty it 
was to realize it for your mother first, afterwards for you and 
your children. Those men were called trustees ; two of them, 
Charlotte, were your half-brothers, John and Jasper Harman ; 
the other was yoiSr mother’s only . living brother, Sandy Wil- 
son. These trustees were false to you : two of them by sim- 
ply ignoring the trust and taking the money to themselves ; 
the other, by pretending to be dead when he ought to have 
been in England attending to his duty. The Harmans, the 
other trustees, so fully believed me to be dead that they 
thought their sin would never be found out. But they reck- 
oned without their host, for Sandy has returned, and the 
missing trustee can act now. Better late than never — eh, 
Niece Charlotte ? ” 

“ My poor mother ! ” said Charlotte, “ my poor, poor 
mother ! ” 

She covered her face with her hands. The suddenness 
and greatness of the crime done had agitated her. She was 
very much upset. Her husband came again very near and 
put his hand on her shoulder. His face, too, was troubled. 

“ It was a terrible sin,” he said, “ a terrible sin to lie on 
these men’s breasts for three and twenty years. God help 
these sinners to repentance ! ” 

“ Yes, God help them,” repeated Uncle Sandy, “ and also 
those they have wronged. But now look up, Charlotte, for I 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


193 


have not told you all. A man never sins for himself alone ; 
if he did it would not so greatly matter, for God and the pangs 
of an evil conscience would make it impossible for him to get 
off scot free ; but — I found it out in the bush, where, I can 
tell you, I met rough folks enough — the innocent are dragged 
down with the guilty. Now this is the case here. In expos- 
ing the guilty -the innocent must suffer. I don’t mean you, 
my dear, nor my poor little wronged Daisy. In both your 
cases the time for suffering, I trust, is quite at an end, but 
there is another victim.” Here Uncle Sandy paused, and 
Charlotte, having recovered her composure, stood upright on 
the hearthrug ready to listen. “ When I went to Somerset 
House yesterday, I had, in order to obtain a sight of Mr. 
Harman’s will, to go through a little ceremony. It is not 
necessary to go into it. I had to get certain papers, and take 
orders to certain rooms. All this was the little form imposed 
on me by the Government for my curiosity. At last I was 
told to go to a room, called the reading room, and asked to 
wait there until the will was brought to me. It was a small 
room, and I sat down prepared to wait patiently enough. 
There were about half-a-dozen people in the room besides 
myself, some reading wills, others waiting until they were 
brought. One woman sat at the table exactly opposite to me. 
She was the only woman in the room at the time, and per- 
haps that fact made me first notice her^ but when I looked 
once, I could npt have been old Sandy Wilson without want- 
ing to look again. I have a weakness for fine women, and 
this woman was fine, in the sense that makes you feel that 
she is lovable. She was young, eager-looking. I have no 
doubt her features were handsome, but it was her open, almost 
childlike expression which attracted most. She was essen- 
tially a fine creature, and yet there was a peculiar childish 
innocence about her, that made old Sandy long to protect her 
on the spot. I was looking at her, and hoping she would 
not notice it and think old Sandy Wilson a bore, when a man 
came into the room and said something to the clerk at the 
desk. The clerk turned to me and said, ‘ The will of the 
name of Harman is being read at this moment by some one 
else in the room.’ Instantly this girl looked up, her eyes 
met mine, her face grew all one blaze of color, though she 
was a pale enough lass the moment before, and a frightened 
expression cafhe into her eyes. She looked down again at 
once, and went on reading in a hurried, puzzled way, as if 
she was scarcely taking in much. Of course I knew she had 


BOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*94 

the will, and I did not want to hurry or confuse her, so I pre- 
tended to turn my attention to something else. It must have- 
been quite a couple of minutes before 1 looked again, and 
then— I confess that I am not easily startled, but I did have 
to smother an exclamation — the poor girl must have discov- 
ered the baseness and the fraud in those two minutes. Had 
she been any other but the plucky lass she is, she would 
have been in a dead faint on the floor, for I never, never in 
all my pretty vast experience, saw a living face so white. I 
could not help looking at her then, for I was completely fas- 
cinated. She went on reading for half a minute longer; then 
she raised her eyes and gazed straight and full at me. She 
had big, open gray eyes, and a moment before, they were full 
of innocence and trust like a child’s, now there was a wild 
anger and despair in them. She was quite quiet however, 
and no one else in the room noticed her. She pushed the 
will across the table to me and said, “ That is Mr. Harman’s 
will,” then she put on her gloves quite slowly and drew down 
her veil, and left the room as sedately and quietly as you 
please. I just glanced my eye over the will. I took in the 
right place and saw the shameful truth. I was horrified 
enough, but I could not wait to read it all. I gave the will 
back intending to go to it another time, for I felt I must 
follow that girl at any cost. I came up to her in Somerset 
House square. I did not care what she thought ; I must 
speak to her ; I did. Poor lass ! I think she was quite 
stunned. She did not resent the liberty old Sandy had 
taken. When I asked her to wait and let me talk to her she 
turned at once— I have not lived in the bush so long without 
being, I pride myself, sharp enough in reading character. I 
saw the girl, proud girl enough at ordinary times, was in 
that state of despair which makes people do desperate tilings. 
She was defiant, and told more than I expected. She was 
Miss Harman — Charlotte Harman, by the way, she said. 
Yes ; her father had stolen that money ; would I like to see 
him ? he lived in such a place ; his name was so- and-so. 
Yes ; she was his only child. Her manner was so reckless, 
so defiant, and yet so full of absolute misery, that I could do 
nothing but pity her from my very heart. I forgot you, 
Niece Lottie, and your rights, and everything but this fine 
creature stricken so low through another’s sins. I said, 

‘ Hush, you shall say no more to-day. You are stunned, you 
are shocked, you must have time to think ; I won’t remem- 
ber a thing you say about your father now. Go home and 


MOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


* 9 $ 

Come back again to-morrow,’ I said ; ‘ sleep over it, and I will 
sleep' over it, and I will meet you here to-morrow, when you 
are more calm.” She agreed to this and went away. I felt 
a little compunction for my own softness during that evening 
and night, Niece Charlotte, I felt that I was not quite true to 
you ; but then you had not seen her face, poor brave young 
thing, poor young thing ! ” 

Here Uncle Sandy paused and looked hard from his niece 
to her husband. Charlotte’s eyes were full of tears, Mr. 
Home was smiling at him. There was something peculiar 
in this man’s rare smiles which turned them into blessings. 
They were far more eloquent than words, for they were fed 
from some illumination of strong approval within. Uncle 
Sandy, without understanding, felt a warm glow instantly 
kindling in his heart. 

Charlotte said, “ Go on,” in a broken voice. 

“ To-day, at the appointed hour, I met her again,” pro- 
ceeded the Australian. “ She was changed, she was com- 
posed enough now, she was on her guard, she did not win 
my sympathy so much as in her despair. She was quite open, 
however, as to the nature of the crime committed, and told 
me she knew well what a sin her father had been guilty of. 
Suddenly she startled me by saying that she knew you, Char- 
lotte. She said she wished she could see you now. I asked 
her why. She said, ‘That I might go down on my knees to 
her.’ I was surprised at such words coming from so proud 
a creature. I said so. She repeated that she would go down 
on her knees that she might the better plead for mercy. I 
was beginning to harden my old heart at that, and to think 
badly of her, when she stopped me, by telling me a strange 
j and sad thing. She said that she had discovered something, 
j something very terrible, between that hour and yesterday, 
j Her father had been ill for some time, but the worst had 
been kept from her. She said yesterday that a poor person 
let her know quite accidentally that he was not only ill but 
dying. She went alone that morning to consult a doctor, 
one of those first-rate doctors whose word is law. Mr. Har- 
man, it seemed, unknown to her, was one of this man’s 
patients. He told her that he was hopelessly ill ; that he 
could oniy live for a few months, and that any shock might 
end his days in a moment. She then told this doctor in 
confidence something of what she had discovered yesterday, 
he said, ‘ As his medical man, I forbid ij you to tell to your 
father this discovery .you have made ; if you do so he will 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


196 

die instantly.’ Miss Harman told me this strange tale, and 
then she began to plead with me. She begged of me to 
show mercy ; not to do anything in this matter during the few 
months which still remained of her father’s life. Afterwards, 
she promised to restore all, and more than all of what had 
been stolen. I hesitated ; I scarcely knew how to proceed. 
She saw it and exclaimed, ‘ Do you want me to go on my 
knees to you ? I will this moment, and here.’ Then I said 
1 could do nothing without consulting you, I could do noth- 
ing without your consent. Instantly the poor thing’s whole 
face changed — I never saw such a change from despair to re- 
lief. She held out her hand . to me ; she said she was safe ; 
she said she knew you ; and that with you she was safe. She 
said she never saw any one in her life seem to want money 
so badly as you ; but for all that, with you she was quite 
safe. She looked so thankful. 1 I can cry now,’ she said as 
she went away.” Uncle Sandy paused again, and again 
looked at his niece and her husband. “ I told her that I 
would come to you to-night,” he said, “ that I would plead 
her cause, and I have, have I not ? ” 

“Well and nobly,” answered Mrs. Home. “Angus, 
think of her trusting me ! I am so glad she could trust me. 
Indeed she is safe with us.” 

“ How soon can you go to her in the morning, Lottie ? ” 
asked the curate. 

“ With the first dawn I should like to go, I only wish I 
could fly to her now. Oh, Angus ! what she must suffer ; 
and next Tuesday is to be her wedding-day. How my heart 
does ache for her ! But I am glad she trusts me.” 

Here Mrs. Home become so excited that a great flood of 
tears came into her eyes. She must cry them away in private. 
She left the room, and the curate, sitting down, told to Uncle 
Sandy how Charlotte Harman had saved little Harold’s life. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

LOVE BEFORE GOLD. 

For the first time in all her life, Mrs. Home laid her 
head on her pillow with the knowledge that she was a rich 
woman. Those good things which money can buy could be 
hers ; her husband need want no more ; her children might 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


197 

be so trained, so nurtured, so carefully tended that their 
beauty, their beauty both physical and moral, would be seen 
in clearest lustre. How often she had dreamed of the pos- 
sibility of such a time arriving, and now at last it had come. 
Ever since her dying mother had told her own true history, 
she had dwelt upon this possible moment, dwelt upon it 
with many murmurings, many heart frettings. Could it be 
realized, she would be the happiest of women. Then she 
had decided to give it all up, to put the golden dream quite 
out of her life and, behold ! she had scarcely done so before it 
had come true, the dream was a reality, the riches lay at 
her feet. In no way through her interference had this come 
about. Yes, but in the moment of her victory the woman 
who had so longed for money was very miserable ; like 
Dead Sea apples was the taste of this eagerly desired fruit. 
She was enriched through another’s anguish and despair, 
through the wrecking of another’s happiness, and that other 
had saved the life of her child. Only one thing comforted 
Charlotte Home during the long hours of that weary night ; 
Charlotte Harman had said. — 

“ With her I am safe ; dearly as she loves money, with 
her I am quite safe.” 

Mrs. Home thought the slow moments would never fly 
until she was with the sister friend, who in her own bitter 
humiliation and shame could trust her. In the morning, 
she and her husband had a talk together. Then hurrying 
through her household duties, she started at a still very 
early hour for Prince’s Gate. She arrived there before ten 
o’clock, and as she mounted the steps and pulled the pon- 
derous bell she could not help thinking of her last visit ; she 
had felt sore and jealous then, to-day she was bowed down by 
a sense of unworthiness and humility. Then, too, she had 
gone to visit this rich and prosperous young woman dressed 
in her very best, for she said to herself that whatever her 
poverty, she would look every inch the lady; she looked 
every inch the lady to-day, though she was in her old and 
. faded merino. But that had now come to her which made 
' her forget the very existence of dress. The grand footman, 
however, who answered her modest summons, being obtuse 
and uneducated, saw only the shabby dress ; he thought she 
was a distressed workwoman, he had forgotten that she had 
ever come there before. When she asked for Miss Harman, 
he hesitated and was uncertain whether she could see his 
young lady ; finally looking at her again, he decided to trust 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


198 

her so far as to allow her £0 wait in the hall while he went 
to inquire. Charlotte gave her name, Mrs. Home, and he 
went away. When he returned there was a change in his man- 
ner. Had he begun to recognize the lady under the shabby 
dress ; or had, Charlotte Harman said anything ? He took 
Mrs. Home up to the pretty room she had seen before, and 
left her there, saying that Miss Harmanwould be with her in 
few moments. The room looked just as of old. Charlotte, 
as she waited, remembered that she had been jealous of this 
pretty room. It was as pretty to-day, bright with flowers, 
gay with sunshine ; the same love-birds were in the same 
cage, the same canary sang in the same window, the same 
parrot swung lazily from the same perch. Over the mantel- 
piece hung the portrait in oils of the pretty baby, who ) r et 
was not so pretty as hers. Charlotte remembered how she 
had longed for these pretty things for her children, but all 
desire for them had left her now. There was the rustling of 
a silk dress heard in the passage, and Charlotte Harman 
carelessly, but richly attired, came in. There was, even 
in their outward appearance, the full contrast between 
the rich and the poor observable at this moment, for 
Charlotte Harman, too, had absolutely forgotten her dress, 
and had allowed Ward to put on what she chose. When 
they were about to reverse positions, this rich and this 
poor woman stood side by side in marked contrast. Char- 
lotte Harman looked proud and cold; in the moment 
when she came to plead, she held her head high. Charlotte 
Home, who was to grant the boon, came up timidly, 
almost humbly. She took the hands of this girl whom 
she loved, held them firmly, then gathering sudden courage, 
there burst from her lips just the last words she had meant 
at this moment to say. 

“ How much I love you ! how much I love you ! ” 

As these fervent, passionate words were almost flung 
at her, Charlotte Harman’s eyes began suddenly to dilate. 
After a moment she said under her breath, in a startled kind 
of whisper ? 

“You know all?” 

“ I know everything.” 

“ Then you — you will save my father ? ” 

“ Absolutely. You need fear nothing from me or mine ; 
in this we are but quits. Did not you save' Harold ? ” 

“ Ah,” said Charlotte Harman ; she took no notice 
of her friend and guest, she sat down on the nearest chair 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


*99 

and covered her face. When she raised her head, Mrs. 
Home was kneeling by her side. 

“ Charlotte,” said Miss Harman — there was a change 
in her, the proud look and bearing were gone — “ Charlotte,” 
she said, “ you and I are one age, but you are a mother ; 
may I lay my head on your breast just for a moment ? ”’ 

“ Lay it there, my darling. As you have got into my 
heart of hearts, so would I comfort you.” 

“ Ah, Charlotte, how my heart has beat ! but your love 
is like a cool hand laid upon it, it is growing quiet.” 

“ Charlotte, you are right in reminding me that I am a 
mother. I must treat you as I would my Tittle Daisy. 
Daisy trusts me absolutely and has no fear ; you must trust 
me altogether, and fear nothing.” 

“ I do. I fear nothing when I am with you. Charlotte, 
next Tuesday was to have been my wedding-day.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ But it is all on an end now ; I broke off my engagement 
yesterday. And yet, how much I love him ! Charlotte, 
don’t look at me so pityingly.” 

“ Was I doing so ? I was wondering if you slept last 
night.” 

“ Slept ! No, people don’t sleep when their hearts beat 
as hard as mine did, but I am better now.” 

“ Then, Charlotte, I must prescribe for you, as a mother. 
For the next two hours you are my child and shall obey me ; 
we have a great deal to say to each other; but first of all, 
before we say a single word, you must lie on this sofa, and 
I will hold your hand. You shall try and sleep.” 

“ But can you spare the time from your children ? ” 

“ You are my child now ; as long as you want me I will 
stay with you. See, I am going to draw down the blinds, 
and I will lock the door ; you must not be disturbed.” 

It was thus that these two spent the morning. When 
Charlotte Harman awoke some hours later, quiet and re- 
freshed,' they had a long, long talk. That talk drew their 
hearts still closer together ; it was plain that such a paltry 
thing as money could not divide these friends. 


200 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE FATE OF A LETTER. 

Hinton had left the Harmans’ house, after his strange 
interview with Charlotte, with a stunned feeling. It is 
not too much to say of this young man that he utterly failed 
to realize what had befallen him. He walked like one 
in a dream, and when he reached his lodgings in Jer- 
myn Street, and sat down at last by his heartl^ he thought 
of himself in a queer way, as if he were some one else ; a 
trouble had come to some one else ; that some one 
was a friend of his so he was called on to pity him. Grad- 
ually, however, it dawned upon him that the friend was 
unpleasantly close, that the some one else reigned as 
lord of his bos'om. It was he — he himself he was called 
on to pity. It was on his, hitherto so prosperous, young 
head that the storm had burst. Next Tuesday was to 
have been his wedding-day. There was to be no wed- 
ding. On next Tuesday he was to have won a bride, a 
wife ; that other one dearer than himself was to give herself to 
him absolutely. In addition to this he was to obtain for- 
tune : and fortune was to lead to far dearer, far nobler fame. 
But now all this was at an end ; Tuesday was to pass as 
any other day — gray, neutral-tinted, indifferent, it was 
to go over his head. And why ? This was what caused 
the sharpest sting of the anguish. There seemed no 
reason for it all. Charlotte’s excuse was a poor one; it 
had not the ring of the true metal about it. Unaccustomed 
to deceive, she had played her part badly. She had given 
an excuse ; but it was no excuse. In this Hinton was 
not blinded, even for a moment. His Charlotte ! There, 
seemed, a flaw in the perfect creature. His Charlotte 
had a second time turned away her confidence from him. 
Yes, here was the sting ; in her trouble she would not let 
him. comfort her. What was the matter ? What was the 
mystery ? What was the hidden wrong ? 

Hinton roused himself now. As thought and clearness 
of judgment came more vividly back to him, his anger 
grew and his pity lessened. His mind was brought to 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


20 i 


beaj upon a secret, for there was a hidden secret. His 
remembrance travelled back to all that had happened 
since the day their marriage was fixed — since the day 
when he first saw a troubled look on Charlotte’s face — 
and she had* told him, though unwillingly, that queer story 
of Mrs. Home’s. Yes, of course, he knew there was a 
mystery — a strange and dark mystery; like a coward 
he had turned away from investigating it. He had seen 
Uncle Jasper’s nervous fear; he had seen Mrs. Hohie’s 
poverty ; he had witnessed Mr. Harman’s ill-concealed 
disquietude — all this he had seen, all this he had known. 
But for Charlotte’s sake, for he had shut his eyes ; Char- 
lotte’s sake he had forbidden his brain to think or his hands 
to work. — 

And now — now — ah ! light was dawning. Charlotte had 
fathomed what he had feared to look at. Charlotte had seen 
the dread reality. The secret was disgraceful. Nothing else 
could so have changed his one love. Nothing but disgrace, 
the disgrace of the one nearest to her, could bring that look 
to her face. Scarcely had he thought this before a memory 
came to him. He started to his feet as it came back. Char- 
lotte had said, “ Before our wedding-day I will read my grand- 
father’s will.” Suppose she had done so, and her grand- 
father’s will had been — what? Hinton began to see reason 
now in her unaccountable determination not to see Webster. 
She had doubtless resolved on that very day to go to Somer- 
set House and read that fatal document. Having made up 
her mind she would not swerve from her purpose. Then, 
though she was firm in her determination, her face had been 
bright, her brow unfurrowed, she had still been his own 'dear 
and happy Charlotte. He had not seen her again until she 
knew all. She knew all, and her heart and spirit were alike 
broken. As this fact became clear to Hinton, a sense of 
relief and peace came over him ; he began once more to un- 
derstand the woman he loved. Beside the darkness of mis- 
understanding her, all other misunderstandings seemed light. 
She was still his love, his life ; she was still true to herself, 
to the beautiful ideal he had enthroned in his heart of hearts. 
Poor darling ! she would suffer ; but he must escape. Loving 
him as deeply, as devotedly as ever, she yet would give him 
up, rather than that he should share in the downfall of her 
house. Ah ! she did not know him. She could be great ; 
but so also could he. Charlotte should see that her love was 
no light thing for any man to relinquish : she would find that 


IIOIV IT ALL CAME ROUMD. 


5 z>h 

it weighed heavier in the balance than riches, than fame ; 
that disgrace even could not crush it down. Knowing all, 
he would go to her ; she should not be alone in her great, 
great trouble ; she should find out in her hour of need the 
kind of man whose heart she had won. His depression left 
him as he came to this resolve, and he scarcely spent even 
an anxious night. On the next day, however, he did not go 
to Charlotte ; but about noon he sat down and wrote her the 
following letter : — 

“ My Darling : 

“ You gave me up yesterday. I was — I don’t mind tell- 
ing you this now — stunned, surprised, pained. Since then, 
however, I have thought much ; all my thought has been 
about you. Thought sometimes leads to light, and light has 
come to me. Charlotte, a contract entered into by two takes 
two to undo.* I refuse to undo this contract. Charlotte, I 
refuse to give you up. You are my promised wife ; our banns 
have been read twice in church already. Have you forgot- 
ten this ? In the eyes of both God and man you are almost 
mine. To break off this engagement, unless I, too, wished 
it, would be, whatever your motive, a sin. Charlotte, the 
time has come, when we may ruin all the happiness of both 
our lives, unless very plain words pass between us. I use 
very plain words when I tell you that I most absolutely refuse 
to give you up. That being so, whatever your motive, you 
are committing a sin in refusing to give yourself to me. My 
darling, it is you I w^ant, not your money — you — not — not — 
But I will add no more, except one thing. Charlotte, I went 
this morning to Somerset House, and I read your grand- 
father's will. 

“ Now, what hour shall I come to you ? Any hour you 
name I will fly to you. It is impossible for you to refuse 
what I demand as a right. But know that, if you do refuse, 
I will come notwithstanding. 

“ Yours ever, 

“John Hinton.’* 

This letter, being directed, was quickly posted, and in 
due time reached its address at Prince’s Gate. 

Then a strange thing happened to it. Jasper Harman, 
passing through the hall, saw the solitary letter waiting for 
his niece. It was his habit to examine every letter that 
came within his reach ; he took up this one for no particular 
reason, but simply from the force of this long established 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


203 

habit. But having taken it in his hand, he knew the writing. 
The letter w^s from Hinton, and Charlotte had told him — 
had just told him — that her engagement with Hinton was 
broken off, that her wedding was not to be. Old Jasper was 
beset just now by a thousand fears, and Charlotte’s manner 
and Charlotte’s words had considerably added to his alarm. 
There was a mystery ; Charlotte could not deny that fact. 
This letter might elucidate it — might throw light where so 
much was needed. Jasper Harman felt that the contents of 
Hinton’s letter might do him good and ease his mind. With- 
out giving himself an instant’s time for reflection, he took the 
letter into the dining-room, and, opening it, read what was 
meant for another. He had scarcely done so before Char- 
lotte unexpectedly entered the room. To save himself from 
discovery, when he heard her step, he dropped the letter 
into the fire. Thus Charlotte never got her lover’s letter. 

Hinton, , bravely as he had spoken, was, nevertheless, 
pained at her silence^. After waiting for twenty-four hours 
he, however, resolved to be true to his word. He had said 
to Charlotte, “ If you refuse what I demand as a right, never- 
theless I shall exercise my right. I will come to you.” But 
he went with a strange sinking of heart, and when he got to 
Prince’s Gate and was not admitted he scarcely felt surprised. 


. CHAPTER XLVI. 

“the way of transgressors.” 

Ir is one of those everlasting truths, which experience 
and life teach us every day, that sin brings its own punishment, 
virtue its own reward : peace, the great divine reward of con- 
science to the virtuous ; misery and despair, and that con- 
stant apprehension which dreads discovery, and yet which in 
itself is worse than discovery, to the transgressors. 

“ The way of transgressors is hard.” 

That Bible text was proving itself once more now in the 
cases of two old men. John Harman was sinking into his 
grave in anguish at the thought of facing an angry God ; 
Jasper Harman was preparing to fly from what, alasl he 
dreaded more, the faces of his angry fellow-creatures. 


204 


I/O IV IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


Yes ; it had come to this with Jasper Harman ; England 
had become too hot to hold him ; better fly while he could. 
Ever since the day Hinton had told him that he had really 
and in truth heard of the safe arrival of the other trustee, 
Jasper’s days and nights had been like hell to hipi. In the 
morning, he had wondered would the evening find him still 
a free man; in the evening, he had trembled at what might 
befall him before the morning dawned. Unaccustomed to 
any mental anguish, his health began to give way ^ his heart 
beat irregularly, unevenly ; he lost his appetite ; at night he 
either had bad dreams or he- could not sleep. This change 
began to tell upon his-appearance ; his hair grew thinner and 
whiter, he stooped as he walked, there was very little appa- 
rent difference now between him and John. 

He could not bear the Harman’s house, for there he 
might meet Hinton. He dreaded his office. in the City, for 
there the other trustee might follow him and publicly expose 
him. He liked his club best ; but even there he felt scarcely 
safe, some one might get an inkling of the tale, there was no 
saying how soon such a story, so strange, so disgraceful, per- 
taining to so well-known a house as that of Harman 
Brothers, might get bruited about. Thus it came to pass 
that there was no place where this wretched old man felt 
safe ; it became more and more clear to him day by day that 
England was too hot to hold him. All these growingfeel- 
ings culminated- in a sudden accession of terror on the day 
that Charlotte, with her" strangely changed face, had asked 
him the truth with regard to her father’s case, when, with 
the persistence of almost despair, she had insisted on know- 
ing the very worst ; then had quickly followed the announce- 
ment that her marriage had been broken off by herself ; that 
it was postponed, her father thought, simply for the short re- 
maining span of his own life ; but Charlotte had taken little 
pains to conceal from Uncle Jasper that she now never meant 
to marry Hinton. What was the reason of it all ? Jasper 
Harman, too, as well as Hinton, was not deceived by the 
reason given. There was something more behind. What 
was that something more ? 

In his terror and perplexity, Jasper opened Hinton’s 
letter. One sentence in that letter, never meant for him, 
burnt into the unhappy man as the very fire of hell. 

“ I went this morning to Somerset House, and I read 
your grandfather’s will.” 

Then Jasper’s worst fears had come true ; the discovery 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


205 

was made ; the hidden sin brought to the light, the sinners 
woyld be dragged any moment to punishment. 

Jasper must leave England that very night. - Never again 
could he enter his brother’s house. He must fly; he must 
fly at once and in secret, for it would never do to take any 
one into his confidence. Jasper Harman had a hard and evil 
heart ; he was naturally cold and unloving ; but he had one 
affection, he did care for his brother. In mortal terror 
as he was, he could not leave that dying brother without bid- 
ding him good-bye. 

John Harman had not gone to the City that day, and when 
Charlotte left the room, Jasper, first glancing at the grate to 
make sure that Hinton’s letter was all reduced to ashes, stole, 
in his usual soft and gliding fashion, to John’s study. He 
was pleased to see his brother there, and alone. 

“You are early back from the City, Jasper,” said the 
elder brother. 

“ Yes ; there was nothing to keep me this afternoon, so I 
did not stay.” 

The two old men exchanged a few more commonplaces. 
They were now standing by the hearth. Suddenly John 
Harman, uttering a half-suppressed groan, resumed his seat. 

“ It is odd,” he said, “how the insidious something which 
men call Death seems to grow nearer to me day by day. 
Now, as we stood together, I felt just a touch of the cold 
hand ; the touch was but a feather weight, but any instant it 
will come down like a giant on its prey. It is terrible to 
stand as I do, looking into the face of Death ; I mean it is 
terrible for one like me.” 

“ You are gettingmorbid, John,” said Jasper ; “ you always 
were given to look oh the dismals. If you must die, as I 
suppose and fear you must, why don’t you rouse yourself and 
enjoy life while you may ? ” 

To this John Harman made no answer. After a moment 
or two of silence, during which Jasper watched him nervous- 
ly, he said, — 

“ As you have come back so early from the City, can you 
give me two hours now ? I have a great deal I want to say to 
you.” 

“About the past ? ” questioned Jasper. 

“ About the past.” 

Jasper Harman paused and hesitated ; he knew well that 
he should never see his brother again ; that this was his last 
request. But dare he stay ? Two hours were very precious, 


20 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 

and the avenger might even now be at the door. No ; he 
could not waste time so precious in listening to an old, old 
tale. 

“ Will two hours this evening do equally well, John ? ” 

“ Yes ; if you prefer it. I generally give the evening to 
Charlotte ; but this evening, if it suits you better.” 

“ I will go now, then,” said Jasper. 

“ Charlotte has told you of her resolve ? ” 

“ Yes, and I have spoken to her; but she is an obstinate 
minx.” 

“ Do not call her so ; it is because of her love for me. I am 
sorry that she will not marry at once ; but it is not, after all, a 
long postponement and it is I own, a relief, not to have to 
conceal my state of health from her.” 

“It is useless arguing with a woman,” said Jasper. 
“■Well, good-bye, John.” 

“ Good-bye,” said the elder Harman, in some surprise 
that Jasper's hand was held out to him. 

- Jasper’s keen eyes looked hard into John’s for a moment. 
He wrung the thin hand and left the room. He had left for 
ever the one human being he loved, and even in his throat 
was a lump caused by something else than fear. But in the 
street and well outside that luxurious home, his love sank out 
of sight and his fear returned ; he must get out of England 
that very night, and he had much to do. 

He pulled out his watch. Yes, there was still time. 
Hailing a passing hansom he jumped into it, and drove to 
his bank. There, to the astonishment of the cashier, he drew 
all the money he kept there. This amounted to some thou- 
sands. Jasper buttoned the precious notes into a pocket-book 
Then" he went to his lodgings and began the task of tearing 
up letters and papers which he feared might betray him. 
Hitherto, all through his life he had kept these* things pre- 
cious ; but now they all went, even to his mother’s portrait and 
the few letters she had written to him when a boy at school. 
Even he sighed as he cast these treasures into the fire and 
watched them being reduced to ashes ; but though they had 
gone with him from place to place in Australia, and he had 
hoped never to part from them, he must give them up now, 
for, innocent as they looked, they might appeal against him. 
He must give up all the past, name and all, for was he not 
flying from the avengers ? flying because of his sin ? Oh ! 
surely the way of transgressors was hard. 


HOW IT ALL came round . 


207 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


CHARLOTTE HARMAN’S COMFORT. 

Jasper Harman did not come to his brother’s house that 
night, but about the time he might expected to arrive there 
came a note from him •instead. It was plausibly written, and 
gave a plausible excuse for his absence. He told John of 
sudden tidings with regard to. some foreign business. These 
tidings were really true. Jasper said that a confidential clerk 
had gone to the foreign port where they dealt to inquire into 
this special matter, but that he thought it best, as the stakes 
at issue were large, to go also himself, to inquire personally. 
He would not be long away, &c. &c. He would write when 
to expect his return. It was a letter so cleverly put together, 
as to cause no alarm to any one. John Harman read it, fold- 
ed it up, and told Charlotte that they need not expect Jasper in 
Prince’s Gate for at least a week. The week passed, and 
though Jasper had neither come nor written, there was no an- 
xiety felt on his account. In the mean time affairs had out- 
wardly calmed down in Prince’s Gate. The agitation, which 
had been felt even by the humblest servant in the establish- 
ment, had ceased. Everything had returned to its accustom- 
ed groove. ' The nine days’ wonder of that put off wedding 
had ceased to be a wonder. It still, it is true, gave zest to 
conversation in the servants’ hall, but upstairs it was never 
mentioned. The even routine of daily life had resumed its- 
sway, and things looked something as as they did before, ex- 
cept that Mr. Harman grew to all eyes perceptibly weaker 
that Charlotte was very grave and pale and quiet, that old 
Uncle Jasper was no longer in and out of the house, and that 
John Hinton never came near it. The luxurious house in 
Prince’s Gate was unquestionably very dull ; but otherwise 
no one could guess that there was anything specially amiss 

there. * , 1t 

On a certain morning, Charlotte got up, put on her walk- 
ing things, and went out. She had not been out of doors for 
a week, and a sudden longing to be alone in the fresh outer 
world came over her too strongly to be rejected. She called 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


20 § 

a hansom and once more drove to her favorite Regent’s Park. 
The park was now in all the full beauty and glory of its spring 
dress, and Charlotte sat down under the green and pleasant 
shade of a wide spreading oak-tree. She folded her hands 
in her lap and gazed straight before her. She had lived 
throught one storm, but she knew that another was before 
her. The sky overhead was still gray and lowering ; there 
was scarcely even peace in this brief lull in the tempest. In 
the first sudden fierceness of the storm she had acted nobly 
and bravely, but now that the excitement was past, there was 
coming to her a certain hardening of heart, and she was 
beginning to doubt the goodness of God. At first, most truly 
she had scarcely thought of herself at all, but it was impossi- 
ble as the days went on for her not to make a moan over her 
own altered life. The path before her looked very dark, and 
Charlotte’s feet had hitherto been unaccustomed to gloom. 
She was looking forward to the death, the inevitable and 
certainly approaching death of her father. That was bad, 
that was dreadful ; but bad and dreadful as it would be to 
say good-bye to the old man, what must follow would be 
worse ; however she might love him, however tenderly she 
might treat him, during his few remaining days or weeks of 
life, when all was over and he could return no more to receive 
men’s praise or blame, then she must disgrace him, she must 
hold him up for the world’s scorn. It would be impossible 
even to hope that the story would not be known, and once 
known it would heap dishonor on the old head she loved. 
For Charlotte, though she saw the sin, though the sin itself 
was most terrible and horrible to her, was still near enough 
to Christ in her nature to forgive the sinner. She had suf- 
fered ; oh, how bitterly through this man ! but none the less 
for this reason did she love him. But there was another 
cause for her heartache ; and this was more personal. Hinton 
and she were parted. That was right. Any other course for 
her to have pursued would have been most distinctly wrong. 
But none the less did her heart ache and feel very sore ; for 
how easily had Hinton acquiesced in her decision ! She did 
not even know of his visit to the house. That letter, which 
would have been, whatever its result, like balm to her wound- 
ed spirit, had never reached her. Hinton was most plainly 
satisfied that they should meet no more. Doubtless it was 
best , doubtless in the end it would prove the least hard 
course ; but none the less did hot tears fall now ; none the 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


209 

less heavy was her heart. She was wiping away a tear or 
two, and thinking these very sad thoughts, when a clear little 
voice in her ear startled her. 

“ My pretty lady ! ” said the sweet voice, and looking round 
Charlotte saw little Harold Home standing by her side. 
Charlotte had not seen Harold since his illness. He had grown 
taller and thinner than of old, but his loving eyes were fixed- 
on her face, and now his small brown hands beat impatiently 
upon her knees. 

“ Daisy and Angus are just round the corner,” he whisper- 
ed. “ Let us play a game of hide and seek, shall we ? ” 

He pulled her hand as he spoke, and Charlotte got up to 
humor him at once. They went quickly round to the other 
side of the great oak-tree, Harold sitting down on the grass 
pulled Charlotte to his side. 

“ Ah ! don’t speak,” he said, and he put his arms round 
her neck. 

She found the feel of the little arms strangely comforting, 
and when a moment or two afterwards the others discovered 
them and came close with peals of merry laughter, she 
yielded at once to Harold’s eager request. 

“ May they go for a walk for half an hour, and may I 
stay with you, pretty lady ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered, stooping down to kiss him. 

Anne promised to return at the right time, and Charlotte 
and Harold were alone. The boy, nestling close to her side, 
began to chatter confidentially. 

“ I’m so glad I came across you,” he said; “you looked 
very dull when I came up, and it must be nice for you to 
have me to talk to, and ’tis very nice for me too, for I am 
fond of you.” 

“ I am glad of that, Harold,” said Charlotte. 

“ But I don’t think you are quite such a pretty lady as 
you were,” continued the boy, raising his eyes to her face 
and examining her critically. “ Mr. Hinton and I used to 
think you were perfectly lovely ! You were so bright — yes, 
bright is the word. Something like a dear pretty cherry, or 
like my^ little canary when he’s singing his very, very 
best. But you ain’t a bit like my canary to-day ; you have 
no sing in you to-day ; ain’t you happy, my pretty lady ? ” 

“ I have had some trouble since I saw you last, Harold,” 
said Charlotte. 

“Dear, dear!” sighed Harold, “everybody seems to 
have lots of trouble. I wonder why. No ; I don’t think 


210 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


Mr. Hinton would think you pretty to-day. But,” as a sud- 
den thought and memory ,came over him — “ I suppose you 
are married by this time ? Aren’t you married to my Mr. 
Hinton by this time ? 

“ No, dear,” answered Charlotte. 

“ But why ? ” questioned the inquisitive boy. 

“ I am afraid I cannot tell you 'that, Harold.” „ 

Harold was silent for about half a minute. He was sit- 
ting down on the grass close to Charlotte, and his head was 
leaning against her shoulder. After a moment he continued 
with a sigh, — 

“ I guess he’s very sorry. He and I used to talk about 
you so at night when I had the fever. I knew then he was 
fond of you,, nearly as fond as I am myself.” 

“ I am glad little Harold Home loves me,” said Charlotte, 
soothed by the pretty boy’s talk, and again she stooped 
down to kiss him. 

“But everybody does,” said the boy. “There’s father 
and mother, and my Mr. Hinton and me, myself, and above 
all, the blessed Jesus.” 

A strange feeling, half pleasure, half surprise, came over 
Charlotte. 

“ How do you know about that last ? ” she whispered. 

“ Of course I know,” replied Harold. “ I know quite well. 
I heard father and mother say it ; I heard them say it quite 
plainly one day, ‘ She’s one of those blessed ones whom 
Jesus Christ loves very much.’ Oh dear! I wish the chil- 
dren weren’t back so dreadfully soon.” 

Yes, the children and Anne had returned, and Harold 
had to say good-bye, and Charlotte herself had to retrace 
her steps homewards. But her walk had not been for noth- 
ing, and there was a new peace, a new quiet, and a new hope 
in her heart. The fact was, she just simply, without doubt 
or difficulty, believed the child. Little Harold Home had 
brought her some news. The news was strange, new, and 
wonderful ; she did not doubt it. Faithful, and therefore full 
of faith, was this simple and upright nature. There was no 
difficulty in her believing a fact. What Harold said was a 
fact. She was one of those whom Jesus loved. Straight did 
this troubled soul fly to the God of consolation. Her religion 
from being a dead thing began to live. She was not friend- 
less, she was not alone, she had a friend who, knowing abso- 
lutely all, still loved. At that moment Charlotte Harman 
put her hand into the hand of Christ. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


2 1 1 


CHAPTER XLVTII. 

THE CHILDREN’S ATTIC. 

It. was one thing for Alexander Wilson to agree to let 
matters alone for the present, and by so doing to oblige both 
Charlotte Home and Charlotte Harman, but it was quite an- 
other thing for him to see his niece, his own Daisy’s child, 
suffering from poverty. Sandy had been accustomed to 
roughing it in the Australian bush. He had known what it 
was to go many hours without food, and when that food 
could be obtained it was most generally of the coarsest and 
commonest quality. He had known, too, what the cold of 
lying asleep in the open air meant. All that an ordinary 
man could endure had Sandy pulled through in his efforts to 
make a fortune. He had never grumbled at these hard- 
ships, they had passed over him lightly. He would, he con- 
sidered, have been less than man to have complained. But 
nevertheless, when he entered the Home’s house, and took 
possession of the poorly-furnished bedroom, and sat down 
day after day to the not too abundant meals ; when he saw 
pretty little Daisy cry because her mother could not give her 
just what was most nourishing for her breakfast, and Harold, 
still pale and thin, having to do without , the beef-tea which 
the doctor had ordered for him ; when Sandy saw these 
things his heart waxed hot, and a great grumbling fit took 
possession of his kindly, genial soul. This grumbling fit 
reached- its culminating point, when one day — mother, chil- 
dren, and maid all out — he stole up softly to the children’s 
nursery. This small attic room, close to the roof, low, 
insufficiently ventilated, was altogether too much for Sandy. 
The time had come for him to act, and he was never the man 
to shirk action in any way. Charlotte Harman was all very 
well that dying father of hers, whom he pronounced a most 
atrocious sinner, and took pleasure in so thinking him, he 
also was well enough, but everything could not give way to 
them. Though for the present Mr. Harman’s money could 
not be touched for the Home’s relief, yet Sandy’s own purse 
was open, and that purse, he flattered himself, was somewhat 


212 


HOW IT ALL CAME LOCAL). 


comfortably lined. Yes, he must do something, and at once. 
Having examined with marked disgust the children’s attic, 
he marched down the street. Tremins Road was long and 
narrow, but leading out of it was a row of fine new houses. 
These houses were about double the size of number ten, 
were nicely finished, and though many of them were already 
taken, two or three had boards up, announcing that ’they 
were still to let. Sandy saw the agent’s name on the board, 
and went off straight to consult with him. The result of this 
consultation was that in half an hour he and the agent were 
all over the new house. Sandy went down to the basement, 
and thought himself particularly knowing in poking his nose 
into corners, in examining the construction of the kitchen- 
range, and expecting a copper for washing purposes to be 
put up in the scullery. Upstairs he selected a large and 
bright room, the windows of which commanded a peep of 
distant country. Here his pretty little Pet Daisy might play 
happily, and get back her rosy cheeks, and sleep well at 
night without coming downstairs heavy-eyed to breakfast. 
Finally he took the house on the spot, and ordered in paper- 
ers and painters for the following Monday. 

He was asked if he would like to choose the papers. 
“Certainly,” he replied, inwardly resolving that the nursery 
should b # e covered with pictures. He appointed an hour on 
Monday for his selections. This day was Saturday. He then 
went to the landlord of No. 10, Tremins Road, and made an 
arrangement for the remainder of the Homes’ lease. This 
-arrangement cost him some money, but he reflected again 
with satisfaction that his purse was well lined. So far he had 
conducted his plans without difficulty. But his next step was 
not so easy ; without saying a word to either Charlotte or 
her husband, he had deprived them of one home, while pro- 
viding them with another. No doubt the new home was 
vastly superior to the old. But still it came into his mind 
that they might consider his action in the light of a liberty ; 
in short, that this very peculiar and unworldly couple might 
be capable of taking huff and might refuse to go at his bid- 
ding. Sandy set his wits to work over this problem, and 
finally he concocted a scheme. He must come round this 
pair by guile. He thought and thought, and in the evening 
when her husband was out he had a long talk with his niece. 
By a few judiciously chosen words he contrived to frighten 
Charlotte about her husband’s health. He remarked that 
he looked il}, worn, very much older than his years. He 


I/O IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


213 


said, with a sigh, that when a man like Home broke down 
he never got up again. He was undermining his constitu- 
tion. When had he had a change ? 

“ Never once since we were married,” answered the wife 
wfith tears in her eyes. 

Sandy shook his head very sadly and gravely over this, 
and after a moment of reflection brought out his scheme. 

Easter was now over, there was no special press of parish 
work. Surely Homes’ Rector would give him a holiday, and 
allow him to get away from Monday to Saturday night ? Why 
not run away to Margate for those six days, and take his wife 
and three children with him ? No, they need take no maid, 
for he, Uncle Sandy, having proposed this plan must be 
answerable for the expense. He would put them all up at a 
good hotel, and Anne could stay at home to take care of 
him. Of course to this scheme there were many objections 
raised. But, finally, the old Australian overruled them each 
and all. The short leave was granted by the Rector. The 
rooms at the hotel which commanded the best sea-view were 
taken by Sandy, and the Homes left 10 Tremins Road, little 
guessing that they were not to return there. When he had 
seen fathe^, mother, and three happy little children off by an 
early train, Sandy returned quickly to Tremins Road. There 
he called Anne to him, and unfolded to the trembling and 
astonished girl his scheme. 

“ We have to be in the new house as snug as snug by 
Satufday night, my girl,” he said in conclusion. “ We have 
to bring away what is worth moving of this furniture, and it 
must all be clean and fresh, for a clean new house. And, 
look here, Anne, you can’t do all the work; do you happen 
to know of a good, hard-working girl, who would come and 
help you, and stay altogether if Mrs. Home happened to like 
her, just a second like yourself, my lass ? ” 

“ Oh, please, sir, please, sir,” answered Anne, “ there’s 
my own sister, she’s older nor me, and more knowing. 
She’s real ’andy, and please, sir, she’d like it real awful 
well.” 

“ Engage her by all means,” said Wilson, “ go at once 
for her. See ; where does she live ? I will pay the cab 
fare.” 

“ Oh, was anything so exactly like the Family Herald ,” 
thought Anne as she drove away. 

Uncle Sandy then went to a large West End furniture 
shop, and chose some sensible and nice furniture. The 


214 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


drawing-room alone he left untouched, for he could not pre- 
tend to understand how such a room should be rigged out — 
that must be Charlotte’s province. But the nice large din- 
ing-room, the bedrooms, the stairs and hall, were made as 
sweet and gay and pretty as the West End shopman, who 
had good taste and to whom Uncle Sandy gave carte blanche, 
could devise. Finally, on Saturday, he went to a florist’s 
and from there filled the windows with flowers, and Anne 
had orders to abundantly supply the larder and store-room ; 
and now at last, directions being given for tea, the old man 
went off to meet his niece, her husband and her children,, to 
conduct them to their new home. 

“ Oh, we did have such a time,” said Harold, as, brown 
as a berry, he looked up at his old great-uncle. “ Didn’t 
we, Daisy ? ” he added, appealing to his small sister, who 
clung to his hand. 

“ Ess, but we ’onted ’oo, Uncle ’Andy,” said the small 
thing, looking audaciously into his face, which she well knew 
this speech would please. 

“ You’re just a dear, little, darling duck,” said Sandy, 
taking her in his arms and giving her a squeeze. But even 
Daisy could not quite monopolize him at this moment. All 
the success of his scheme depended on the next half-hour, 
and as they all drove back to Kentish Town, Sandy on the 
box-seat of the cab, and the father, mother, and three chil- 
dren inside, his heart beat so loud and hard, that he had to 
quiet it with some sharp inward admonitions. 

“ Sandy Wilson, you old fool ! ” he. said to himself more 
than once ; “ you have not been through the hardships of 
the Australian bush to be afraid of a moment like this. 
Keep yourself quiet ; I’m ashamed of you.” 

At last they drew up at the address Sandy had privately 
given. How beautiful the new house looked ! The hall 
door stood open, and Anne’s smiling face was seen on the 
threshold. The children raised a shout at sight of her and 
the flowers, which were so gay in the windows. Mr. Home 
in a puzzled kind of way was putting out his head to tell the 
cabby that he had made a mistake, and that he must just 
turn the corner. Charlotte was feeling a queer little sensa- 
tion of surprise, when Uncle Sandy, with a face almost pur- 
ple with emotion, flung open the door of the cab, took Daisy 
in his arms, and mounting her with an easy swing on to his 
shoulder said to Charlotte, — 


m W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


“ Welcome, in the name of your dear, dead mother, 
Daisy Wilson, to your new home, Niece Lottie.” 

The children raised a fresh shout. 

“ Oh, come, Daisy,” said Harold ; she struggled to the 
ground and the two rushed in. Anne came down and took 
the baby, and Mr, and Mrs. Home had no help for it but to 
follow in a blind kind of way. Uncle Sandy pushed his 
niece down into one of the hall chairs. 

“ There ! ” he said ; “ don’t, for Heaven’s sake, you two 
unpractical, unworldly people, begin to be angry with me. 
That place in Tremins Road was fairly breaking my heart, 
and I could not stand it, and ’tis — well — I do believe ’tis 
let, and you can't go back to it, and this house is yours, 
Niece Charlotte, and the furniture. As to the rent, I’ll be 
answerable for that, and you won’t refuse your own mother’s 
brother. The fact was, that attic where the children slept 
was too much for me, so I had to do something. Forgive 
me if I practised a little bit of deception on you both. Now, 
I’m of! to an hotel to-night, but to-morrow, if you’re not too 
angry with your mother’s brother, I’m coming back for good. 
Kept a fine room for myself, I can tell you. Anne shall 
show it to you. Trust Sandy Wilson to see to his own com- 
forts. Now good-bye, and God bless you both.” 

Away he rushed before either of the astonished pair had 
time to get in a word. 

“ But I do think they’ll forgive the liberty the old man 
took with them,” were his last waking thoughts as he closed 
his eyes that night. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

HE WEPT. 

Mr. Harman was beginning to take the outward circum- 
stances of his life with great quietness. What, three months 
before, would have caused both trouble and distress, now 
was received with equanimity. The fact was, he felt him- 
self day by day getting so near eternity, that the things of 
time, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, 
were assuming to him their true proportions. 


2 1 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 

John Harman was being led by a dark road Of terrible 
mental suffering to his God ; already he was drawing near, 
and the shadow of that forgiveness which would yet encircle 
him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand. 

Days, and even weeks, went by, and there was no news 
of Jasper. John Harman would once have been sbrely per- 
plexed, but now he received the fact of his brother’s absence 
with a strange quietness, even apathy. Charlotte’s post- 
poned marriage, a little time back, would have also fretted 
him, but believing surely that she would be happy after his 
death, he did not now trouble ; and he could not help 
owning to himself that the presence of his dearly loved 
daughter was a comfort too great to be lightly dis- 
pensed with. He was too much absorbed with him- 
self to notice the strangeness of Hinton’s absence, and 
he did not perceive, as he otherwise would have done, that 
Charlotte’s face was growing thin and pale, and that there 
was a subdued, almost crushed manner about the hitherto 
spirited creature, which not even his present state of health 
could altogether account for. 

Yes, John Harman lived his self-absorbed life, going day 
by day a little further into the valley of the shadow of death. 
The valley he was entering looked very dark indeed to the 
old man, for the sin of hi9 youth was still- unforgiven, and he 
could not see even a glimpse of the Good Shepherd’s rod and 
staff. Still he was searching day and night for some road of 
peace and forgiveness ; he wanted the Redeemer of all the 
world to lay His hand upon his bowed old head. The mis- 
take he was still making was this — he would not take God’s 
way of peace, he must find his own. 

One evening, after Charlotte had left him, he sat for a 
long time in his study lost in thought. After a time he rose 
and took down once more from the shelf the Bible which he 
had opened some time before ; then it had given him the re- 
verse of comfort, and he scarcely, as he removed it from the 
place where he had pushed it far back out of sight, knew 
why he again touched it. He did, however, take it in his 
hand, and return with it to his chair. He drew the chair up 
to the table and laid the old Bible upon it. He opened it 
haphazard ; he was not a man who had ever studied or 
loved the Bible ; he was not acquainted with all its contents 
and the story on which his eyes rested came almost with the 
freshness of novelty. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


217 


“ Two men went up into the Temple to pray ; the one a 
Pharisee, and the other a publican. 

“ The publican would not lift up so much as his eyes unto 
heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful 
to me, a sinner. 

“ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified 
rather than the other.” 

John Harman read the story twice. 

“ This man went down to his house justified rather than 
the other.” 

The other ! he fasted, and gave alms, and thanked God 
that he was not as this publican — this publican, who was a 
sinner. 

But the Bible words were clear enough and plain enough. 
He, the sinner, was justified. 

- John Harman covered his face with his hands. Suddenly 
he fell on his knees. 

“ God be merciful to me a sinner,” he said. 

He said the few words twice aloud, in great anguish of 
spirit, and as he prayed he wept. 

Afterwards he turned over the Bible pages again. This 
time he read the story of Zacchaeus. 

“ If I have taken anything from any man, I restore him 
fourfold.” 

It was very late when Mr. Harman at last went to bed, 
but he slept better that night than he had done for years. 
He was beginning to see the possible end. 


CHAPTER L. 

' home’s sermon. 

It was impossible for the Homes to refuse Uncle Sandy’s 
-kindness. Their natural pride and independence of char- 
acter could not stand in the way of so graciously and grace- 
fully offered a gift. When the old man came to see them the 
next day, he was received with all the love and gratitude he 
deserved. If he could give well, Charlotte and her husband 
knew how to receive well. He now told his niece plainly 
that he had come to pass the remainder of his days with her 
and hers ; and father, mother, and children welcomed him 
with delight, 


2 1 8 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


Charlotte was now a very happy woman. The new and 
pretty house was delightful to her. She began to understand 
what it was not to have to look twice at a pound, for Uncle 
Sandy’s purse was for ever at her command. When she went 
with her old uncle to choose the furniture for the new draw- 
ing room, she laughed so merrily and seemed so gay that 
Uncle Sandy informed her that she had already lost five years 
of her age. Harold and Daisy used to look into her face at 
this time, and say to one another, “Isn’t our mother pretty ?” 
For, indeed, the peace in her heart, and the little unexpected 
glow of worldly prosperity which had come into her life, had 
wonderfully softened ..and beautified her face. Her eyes, 
when she looked at her children’s blooming faces, were often 
bright as stars. At all times now they were serene and happy. 
She had one little cross, however, one small shadow in her 
happy time. She .wanted to be much — daily, if possible — 
with Charlotte Harman. Her heart yearned over Charlotte, 
and she would have almost neglected her children to give 
her one ray of comfort just now. But Charlotte herself had 
forbidden this daily intercourse. 

“ I love you, Charlotte,” she had said, “ and I know that 
you love me. But at. present we must not meet. I cannot 
leave my father to go to see you, and you must not come 
here, for I cannot risk the chance of seeing you. He may 
question me, and I shall not be able to answer his questions. 
No, Charlotte, we must not meet.” 

Charlotte Home felt much regret at this. Failing Char- 
lotte Harman, she turned her attention to Hintbn. She was 
fully resolved- that no stone should remain unturned by her 
to enable those two yet to marry, and she thought she might 
best effect her object by seeing the young man. She wrote 
to him, asking him to call, telling him that she had much of 
importance to tell him ; but both from his private address 
and also from his chambers the letters were, in due course 
of time, returned. Hinton was not in town, and had left no 
clue to his whereabouts. Thus she was cut off from helping, 
jn any way, those who were in great darkness, and this fact 
was an undoubted sorrow to her. Yes, Mrs, Home was full » 
of pity for Charlotte, full of pity for Charlotte’s lover. But 
it is to be feared that both she and Uncle Sandy j retained a 
strong sense of indignation towards the one who had caused 
the anguish — towards the one, therefore, on whom the 
heaviest share of the punishment fell. Very terrible was it 
for Charlotte, very terrible for Hintbn. But were they asked 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


21 $ 

to tell their true feeling towards old John Harman, they 
might have whispered, “ Serve him right.” There was one, 
however, besides his daughter, whose warmest sympathies, 
whose most earnest and passionate prayers were beginning 
day by day and night by night, to centre more and more 
round the suffering and guilty man, and that one was the 
curate, Home. Angus Home had never seen John Harman, 
but his sin and his condition were ever before him. He was 
a dying man, and — he was a sinner. With strong tears and 
lamentation did this man cry to God for his fellow man. 
His tears and his prayers brought love for the sinner. An- 
gus Home would have gladly died to bring John Harman 
back to God. 

One Saturday night he sat up late over his sermon. He 
was not an eloquent preacher, but so earnest was his nature, 
so intense his realization of God’s love and of the things un- 
seen, that it was impossible for his words not to be winged with 
the rare power of earnestness, He was neither gifted with 
language nor with imagination ; but he could tell plain truths 
in such away that his hearers often trembled as they listened. 
At such times he looked like an avenging angel. For the 
man, when he felt called on to rebuke sin, was very jealous 
for his God. Then, again, he could whisper comfort ; he 
could bring down Heaven, and looked, when he spoke of 
the land which is very far off, as though even now, and even 
here, his eyes were seeing the King in His beauty. Never- 
theless, so little was that real power of his understood, so 
much better were empty words gracefully strung together 
preferred, that Home was seldom asked to preach in the 
large parish church. His congregation were generally the 
very poorest of his flock. These* very poor folks learned to 
love their pastor, and for them he would very gladly spend 
v and be spent. He was to preach to-morrow in a small iron 
building to these poor people. He now sat up late to pre- 
pare his sermon. He found himself, however, sadly out of 
tune for this work. He took his Bible in hand and turned 
page after page ; he could find no suitable text ; he could 
fix his attention on no particular line of argument. He un- 
locked a drawer, and took from thence a pile of old sermons ; 
should he use one of these ? He looked through and through 
his store. None pleased, none satisfied him. Finally, 
overcome by a sudden feeling, he forgot his sermon of to- 
morrow. He pushed his manuscripts aside, and fell on his 
knees. He was in terror about the soul of John Harman, 


220 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


and he prayed for him in groans that seemed almost as 
though they must rend the heavens in their pleadings for a 
reply. “ Lord, spare the man. Lord, hear me ; hear me 
when I plead with Thee. It was for sinners such as he Thou 
didst die. Oh, spare ! oh, save ! — save this great sinner. 
Give me his soul, Lord. Lord, give me his soul to bring to 
Thee in Heaven.” He went up to bed in the early hours of 
the May morning quite exhausted. He had absolutely for- 
gotten his sermon. He had not prepared a word for his con- 
gregation for the next day. Before he went to church he 
remembered this. The was no help for it now. He could 
but put two of his already prepared sermons in his pocket and 
set out. He was to read the service as well as to preach the 
sermon. There were about sixty poor people present. Char- 
lotte and the children went to the parish church. There was 
not a really well-dressed person in all his congregation. He 
had just finished reading the Absolution when a slight stir 
near the door attracted his attention. He raised his eyes to 
see the verger leading up the centre aisle an old man with 
bowed head and silver hair, accompanied by a young woman. 
The young woman Home recognized at a glance. She was 
Charlotte Harman ; the old man then was her father. He 
did not ask himself why they had come here or how, but in- 
stantly he said to his own heart, with a great throb of ecstatic 
joy, “God has heard my prayer; that soul is to be mine.” 
When he mounted the pulpit stairs he had absolutely fbrgot- 
ten his written sermons. For the first time he stood before 
his congregation without any outward aid of written 
words, or even notes. He certainly did not need them, for 
his heart was full. Out of that heart, burning with love so 
intense as to be almost divine, he spoke. I don’t think he 
used any text, but he told from beginning to end the old, old 
tale of the Prodigal Son. He told it as, it seemed to his 
congregation, that wonderful story had never been told since 
the Redeemer Himself had first uttered the words. He de- 
scribed the far country, the country where God was not ; and 
the people were afraid and could scarcely draw their breath. 
Then he told of the Father’s forgiveness and the Father’s 
welcome home ; and the congregation, men and women alike, 
hid their faces and wept. Added to his earnestness God had 
given to him the great gift of eloquence to-day. The people 
said afterwards they scarcely knew their pastor. There was 
not a dry eye in his church that morning. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


221 


CHAPTER LI. 

A SINNER. 

Home went back to his new and pretty house and sat 
down with his wife and children, and waited. He would not 
even tell Charlotte of these unlooked-for additions to his 
small congregation. When she asked him if he had got on 
well, if his sermon had been a difficulty, he had answered, 
with a light in his eyes, that God had been with him. After 
this the wife only took his hand and pressed it. She need 
question no further : but even she wondered at the happy 
look on his face. 

He had two more services for that day, and also schools 
to attend, and ’through all his duties, which seemed to come 
without effort or annoyance, he still waited. He knew as 
well as if an angel had told him that he should see more 
of Mr, Harman. Had he been less assured of this 
he would have taken some steps himself to secure a, 
meeting; he would have gone to the daughter, he would 
have done he knew not what. But having this firm assur- 
ance, he did not take any steps ; he believed what God 
wished him to do was quietly to wait. 

When he went out on Monday morning he left word with 
his wife where he might be found without trouble or delay, 
if wanted. 

“ Is any one ill in the congregation ? ” she inquired.” 

“ Some one is ill, but not in the congregation,” he an- 
swered. 

He came home, however, late on Monday night, to find 
that no one had sent, no one in particular had inquired for 
him. Still his faith was not at all shaken ; he still knew that 
Harman's soul was to be given to him, and believing that he 
would like to see him, he felt that he should yet be sum- 
moned to his side. 

On Tuesday morning prayers were to be read in the little 
iron church. Never full even on Sundays, this one week- 
day service was very miserably attended. Home did not 
often take it, the duty generally devolving on the youngest 


222 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


N curate in the place. He was hurrying past to-day, having 
many sick and poor to attend to, when he met young Daven- 
port — a *curate only just ordained. 

“ I am glad I met you,” said the young man, coming up 
at once and addressing the older clergyman with a troubled 
face. “ There would not have been time to have gone round 
to your place. See, I have had a telegram ; my father is ill. 
I want to catch a train at twelve o’clock to go and see him ; 
I cannot if I take this service. Will it be possible for you 
to do the duty this morning ? ” 

“ Perfectly possible,” answered Hojne heartily. “ Go 
off at once, my dear fellow ; I will see to things for you un- 
til you return.” 

The young man was duly grateful, and hurried away at 
once, and Home entered the little building. The moment 
he did so he saw the reason of it all. Mr. Harman was in 
the church ; he was in the church and alone. His daughter 
was not with him. There was no sermon that day, and the 
short morning prayers were quickly over. The half-dozen 
poor who had come in went out again ; but Mr. Harman did 
not stir. Home took off his surplice, and hurried down the 
church. Pie meant now to speak to Mr. Harman, if Mr. 
Harman did not speak to him ; but he saw that he would 
speak. As he approached the pew the white-headed old 
man rose slowly and came to meet him. 

“ Sir, I should like to say a few words to you.” 

‘As many as you please, my dear sir; I am quite at 
your service.” 

Home now entered the pew and sat down. 

. “ Shall we talk here or in the vestry ? ” he inquired, after 
a moment’s silence. 

“ I thought perhaps you would come to my house later 
on,” said Mr. Harman. “ I have a long story to tell you ; 
I can tell it best at home. I am very ill, or I would come 
to you. May I expect you this evening ? ” 

“ I will certainly come,” answered Home. “ What is 
your address ? ” 

Mr. Harman gave it. Then, after a pause, he added — 

“ I seek you as a minister.” 

“And I come to you as a servant of God,” replied the 
curate, now fixing his eyes on his companion. 

Mr. Harman’s gaze did not quail before that steady look. 
With an unutterable sadness he returned it fully. Then he 
said, — 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


223 


“ I came here on Sunday.” 

“ I saw you,” answered Home. 

“ Ah ! can it be possible that you preached to me ? ” 

c< To you, if you think so. I spoke to every sinner in the 
congregation.” 

“ You spoke of a land where God is not ; you described 
the terrible country well.” 

“ An arid land ? ” answered Home. 

“ Ay, a thirsty land.” 

“ Those that find it so generally find also that they are 
being led back to a land where God is.” 

“You believe, then, in the forgiveness of sin ?” 

“ If I did not I should go mad.” 

“ My good sir, you are not much of a sinner.” 

“ I am a sinner, sir ; and if I were not — if I dared to 
lift up my eyes to a holy, a righteous God, and say, 1 1 am 
pure’ — I yet, if I did not believe as fully as I am now sitting 
by your side in the perfect forgiveness of sin, I yet should, 
go mad ; for I have seen other men’s sins and other men’s 
despair ; I should lose my reason for their sakes, if not for 
my own.” 

“ Should you, indeed ? You see now before you a de- 
spairing man and a dying man.” 

“ And a sinner ? ” questioned Home. 

“ Ay, ay, God knows, a sinner.” 

“Then I see also before me. a man whose despair can be 
changed to peace, and his sin forgiven. What hour shall I 
call upon you this evening ? ” 

Mr. Harman named the hour. Then he rose feebly ; 
Home gave him his arm and conducted him to his carriage ; 
afterwards he re-entered the church to pray. 


CHAPTER LII. 

A HIDDEN SIN. 

Nine o’ clock in the evening was the hour named by Mr. 
Harman, and punctually at that hour Home arrived at 
Prince’s Gate. He was a man who had never been known 
to be late for an appointinent ; for in little things even, this 


22 \ 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


singular man was faithful to the very letter of the trust. 
This nice observance of his passed word, in a great measure 
counteracted his otherwise unpractical nature. Home w f as 
known by all his acquaintances to be a most dependable man. 

Mr. Harman had told Charlotte that he was expecting a 
friend to visit him. He said he should like to see that friend 
alone ; but, contrary to his wont, he did not mention his 
name. This cannot be wondered at, for Mr. Harman knew 
of no connection between the Homes and Charlotte. He 
had chosen this man of God, above his fellow-men, because 
he had been haunted and impressed by his sermon, but he 
scarcely himself even knew his name. It so happened, how- 
ever, that Charlotte saw Mr. Home entering her father’s 
study. It is not too much to say that the sight nearly took 
her breath away, and that she felt very considerable dis- 
quietude. 

“ Sit here,” said Mr. Harman to his guest. 

The room had been comfortably prepared, and when 
Home entered Mr. Harman got up and locked the door ; 
then, sitting down opposite to Home, and leaning a little for- 
ward, he began at once without preface or preamble. 

“ I want to tell you without reservation the story of my 
life.” 

“ I have come to listen,” answered Home. 

“ It is the story of a sin.” 

Home bent his head. 

“ It is the stoiy of a successfully hidden sin — a sin hidden 
from all the world for three and twenty years.” 

“ A crushing weight such a sin must have been,” answered 
the clergyman. “ But will you just tell me all from the be- 
ginning ? ” 

“ I will tell you all from the beginning. A hidden sin is, 
as you say, heavy enough to crush a man into hell. But I 
will make no more' preface. Sir, I had the misfortune to lose a 
very noble mother when I was young. When I was ten years 
old, and my brother (I have one brother) was eight, our 
mother died ! We were but children, you will say ; but I 
don’t, even now that I am a dying, sinful old man, forget my 
mother. She taught us to pray and to shun sin. She also 
surrounded us with such high and holy thoughts — she so 
gave us the perfection of all pure mother love, that we must 
have been less than human not to be good boys during her 
lifetime. I remember even now the look in her eyes when I 
refused on any childish occasion to follow the good, and 


22 $ 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

then chose the evil. I have a daughter — one beloved 
daughter, something like my mother. I have seen the same 
high and honorable light in her eyes, but never since in any 
others. Well, my mother died, and Jasper and I had only 
her memory to keep us right. We used to talk about her often, 
and often fretted for her as, I suppose, few little boys before 
or since have fretted for a mother. After her death we were 
sent to school. Our father even then was a rich man : he 
was a self-made man ; he started a business in a small way 
in the City, but small beginnings often make great endings, 
and the little business grew, and grew, and success and wealth 
came almost without effort. Jasper and I never knew what 
poverty meant. I loved learning better than my brother did, 
and at the age of eighteen, when Jasper went into our father’s 
business, I was sent to Oxford. At twenty-two I had taken 
my degree, and donk so, not perhaps brilliantly, but with 
some honor. Any profession was now open to me, and my 
father gave me full permission to chpose any walk in life I 
chose ; at the same time he made a proposal. He was no 
longer so young as he had been ; he had made his fortune ;he 
believed that Jasper’s aptitude for business excelled his own. 
If we would become partners in the firm which he had made, 
and which was already rising into considerable eminence, 
he would retire altogether. We young men should work the 
business in our own way. He was confident we should rise 
to immense wealth. While making this proposal our father 
said that he would not give up his business to Jasper alone. 
If both his sons accepted it, then he would be willing to 
retire, taking with him a considerable sum of money, but 
still leaving affairs both unencumbered and flourishing. 

‘ You are my heirs eventually,’ he said to us both ; ‘and now 
I give you a week to decide.’ At the end of the" allotted 
time we accepted the offer. This was principally Jasper’s 
doing, for at that time I knew nothing of business, and had 
thought of a profession. Afterwards I liked the counting- 
house, and became as absorbed as others in the all-engross- 
ing accumulation of wealth. Our father had taken a very 
large sum of money out of the business, and it was im- 
possible for us not to feel for a time a considerable strain ; 
but Jasper’s skill and talent were simply wonderful, and suc- 
cess attended all our efforts. 

“Two years after I joined the business, I married my 
Charlotte’s mother. I was a wealthy man even then. 
Though of no birth in particular, I was considered gentle- 


226 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


manly. I had acquired that outward polish which a university 
education gives ; I was also good-looking. With my money, 
good looks, and education, I was considered a match for the 
proud and very poor daughter of an old Irish baronet. She 
had no money ; she had nothing but her beautiful face, her 
high and honorable spirit, her blue blood. You will say, 

‘ Enough !’ Ay, it was more than enough. She made me 
the best, the truest of wives. I never loved another woman. 
She was a little bit extravagant. She had never known 
wealth until she became my wife; and wealth, in the most 
innocent way in the world, was delightful to her. While 
Jasper saved, I was tempted to live largely. I took an ex- 
pensive house — there was no earthly good thing I would not 
have given to her. She loved me ; but, as I said,- she was 
proud. Pride in birth and position was perhaps her only 
fault. I was perfect in her eyes, but §he took a dislike to 
Jasper. This I could have borne, but it pained me when I 
saw her turning away from my old father. I dearly loved 
and respected my father, and I wanted Constance to love 
him, but she never could be got to care for him. It was at 
that time, that that thing happened which was the beginning 
of all the after darkness and misery. 

“ My father, finding my proud young wife not exactly to 
his taste, came less and less to our house. Finally, he 
bought an old estate in Hertfordshire, and then one day the 
news reached us that he had engaged himself to a very young 
girl, and that he would marry at once. There was nothing 
wrong in this marriage, but Jasper and I chose to consider 
it a sin. We had never forgotten our»mother, and we thought 
it a dishonor to her. We forgot our father’s loneliness. 
In short, we were unreasonable and behaved as un- 
reasonably as unreasonable men will on such occasions. 
Hot and angry words passed between our father and our- 
selves. We neither liked our father’s marriage nor his 
choice. Of course, we . were scarcely likely to turn the old 
man from his purpose, but we refused to have any- 
thing to do with his young wife. Under such circumstances 
we had an open quarrel. Our father married, and we did 
not see him for years. I was unhappy at this^ for I loved 
my father. Before his second marriage, he always spent 
from Saturday to Monday at our house, and though my own 
wife not caring for him greatly marred our pleasure, yet now 
that the visits had absolutely ceased I missed them — I missed 
the gray head and the shrewd, old, kindly face ; and often, 


NOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


227 

very often, I almost resolved to run down into Hertfordshire 
and make up my quarrel. I did not do so, however ; and 
as the years went on, I grew afraid to mention my father’s 
name to either my wife or brother. Jasper and I were at 
this time deeply absorbed in speculation ; our business was 
growing and growing ; each thing we embarked in turned out 
well ; we were beginning quite to recover from the strain 
which our father’s removal of so large a sum of money had 
caused. Jasper was a better man of business than I was. 
Jasper, though the junior partner, took the lead in all plans. 
He proposed that an Australian branch of our business should 
be opened. It was done, and succeeded well. 

“ About this time we heard that a little son had arrived 
at the Hermitage in Hertfordshire. He did not live long. 
We saw his birth announced in The Times. It may have 
been some months later, though, looking back on it, it seems 
but a few days, that the birth was followed by the death; A 
year or two passed away, and my wife and I were made 
happy by the arrival of our first child. The child was a 
daughter. We called her Charlotte, after my much-loved 
mother. Time went on, until one day a telegram was put 
into my hand summoning my brother and myself to our 
father’s deathbed. The telegram was sent by the young 
wife. I rushed off at once; Jasper followed by the next 
train. 

The hale old man had broken up very suddenly at last, 
and the doctor said he had but a few days to live. During 
those few days, Jasper and I scarcely left his bedside; we 
were reconciled fully and completely, and he died at last 
murmuring my own mother’s name and holding our hands. 

It was during this visit that I saw the little wife for the 
first time. She was a commonplace little thing, but pretty 
and very young ; it was impossible to dislike the gentle 
creature. She was overpowered with grief at her husband’s 
death. It was impossible not to be kind to her, not to com- 
fort her. There was one child, a girl of about the age of my 
own little Charlotte. This child had also been named 
Charlotte. She was a pale, dark-eyed child, with a certain 
strange look of my mother about her. She was not a 
particle like her own. My father loved this little creature, 
and several times during those last days of his he spoke of 
her to me. 

“ ‘ I have called her after your own mother,’ he said. ‘ I 
love my second wife ; but the Charlotte of my youth can never 


228 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


be forgotten. I have called the child Charlotte ; you have 
called your daughter Charlotte. Good ! let the two be 
friends.’ 

“ I promised readily enough, and I felt pity and interest for 
the' little forlorn creature. I also, as I said, intended to be 
good to the mother, who seemed to me to be incapable of 
standing alone. 

“ Immediately after my father’s death and before the fu- 
neral, I was summoned hastily to town. My wife was dan- 
gerously ill. A little dead baby had come into the world, 
and for a time her life was despaired of ; eventually she got 
better ; but for the next few days I lived and thought 
only for her. I turned over all business cares to Jasper. I 
was unable even to aftend our father’s funeral. I never day 
or night left Constance’s bedside. I loved this woman most 
devotedly,, most passionately. During all those days when 
her life hung in the balance, my time seemed one long prayer 
to God. 1 Spare her, bpare her precious life at any cost, at 
any cost.’ Those were the words, forever on my lips. The 
prayer was heard ; I had my wife again. For a short time 
she was restored to me. I have often thought since, was 
even that precious life worth the price I paid for it ? ” 

Here Mr. Harman paused. Some moisture had gathered 
on his brow ; he took out his handkerchief to wipe it away. 
A glass of water stood by his side ; he drank a little. 

“ I am approaching the sin,” he said addressing the clergy- 
man. “ The successfully buried sin is about to rise from its 
grave pardon, me if I shrink from the awful sight.” 

“ God will strengthen you, my dear sir,” answered Home. 
“ By your confession, you are struggling back into the right 
path. What do I say ? Rather you are being led back by 
God himself. Take courage. Lean upon the Almighty arm. 
Your sin will shrink in dimensions as you view it ; for be- 
tween you and it will come forgiveness.” 

Mr. Harman smiled faintly, After another short pause, 
he continued. 

“ On the day on which my dear wife was pronounced out 
of danger, Jasper sent for me. My brother and I had ever 
been friends, though in no one particular were we alike. 
During the awful struggle through which I had just passed. 
I forgot both him and my father. Now I remembered him 
and my father’s death, and our own business cares. A thou- 
sand memories came back to me. When he sent for me I 
left my wife’s bedside and went down to him. I was feeling 

I - 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


229 

weak and low, for I had not been in bed for many nights, 
and a kind of reaction had set in. I was in a kind of state 
when a man’s nerves can be shaken, and his whole moral 
equilibrium upset. I do not offer this as an excuse for what 
followed. There is no excuse for the dark sin ; but I do 
believe enough about myself to say that what I then yielded 
to, I should have been proof against at a stronger physical 
moment. I entered my private sitting-room to find Jasper 
pacing up and down like a wild creature. His eyes were 
bloodshot, his hair tossed. He was a calm and cheerful per- 
son generally. At this instant, he looked like one half bereft 
of reason. 4 Good heavens ! what is wrong ? ’ I said. I was 
startled out of myself by his state of perturbation. 

44 We are ruined ; that is what is wrong,’ answered 
Jasper. 

44 He then entered into particulars with which I need not 
trouble you. A great house, one of the greatest and largest 
houses in the City, had come to absolute grief ; it was bank- 
rupt. In its fall many other houses, ours amongst them, 
must sink. 

“ I saw it all quite plainly. I sat down quiet and stunned ; 
while Jasper raved and swore and" paced up and down the 
room, I sat still. Yes we were, beggars, nothing could save 
the house which our father had made with such pride and 
care. 

44 After a time I left Jasper and returned to my wife’s 
room. On the way I entered the nursery and paid my pretty 
little Charlotte a visit. She climbed on my knee and kissed 
me, and all the time I kept saying to myself, 4 The child is a 
beggar, I can give her no comforts ; we are absolutely in 
want.’ It was the beginning of the winter then/ and the 
weather was bitterly cold. The doctor met me on the thres- 
hold of my wife’s room/ he said to me, ‘ As soon as ever she is 
better, you must either take or send her out of England. 
She may recover abroad ; but to winter in this climate, in her 
present state, would certainly kill her.’ How bitter I felt; 
for was I not a beggar ? How could I take my wife away ? 
I sat down again in the darkened room and thought over the 
past. Hitherto the wealth, which was so easily won, seemed 
of comparatively small importance. It was easy with a full 
purse to wish, then to obtain. I had often, wondered at 
Constance’s love for all the pretty things with which I de- 
lighted to surround her, her almost childish pleasure in the 
riches which had come to her. -She always said to me at 
such times ; 


HOIV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


230' 

riches which had come to her. She always said to me at 
such times : 

“ 4 But I have known such poverty ; I hate poverty, and I 
love, I love the pretty things of life.’ 

“ This very night, as I sat by her bedside, she opened her 
lovely eyes and looked at me and said : 

“ 4 John, I have had such a dream so vivid, so, so terrible. 
I thought we were poor again — poorer than I ever was even 
with my father; so poor, John, that I was hungry, and you 
could give me nothing to eat. I begged you to give me food. 
There was a loaf in a shop window, such a nice crisp loaf ; 
and I was starving. When you said you had no money, I 
begged of you to steal that loaf. You would not, you would 
not, and at last I lay down to die. Oh ! John, say it was a 
dream.’ * 

“ 4 Of course it was only a dream, my darling ! ’ I an- 
swered, and I kissed her and soothed her, though all the 
time my heart felt like lead. 

44 That evening Jasper sent for me again. His manner 
now was changed. The wildness and despair had left it. 
He was his old, cool, collected self. He was in the sort of 
mood when he always had an ascendency over me — the sort 
of mood when he showed that wonderful business faculty for 
which I could not but admire him. 

44 4 Sit down, John,’ he said, 4 1 have a great deal to say to 
you. There is a plan in my head. If you will agree to act 
with me in it, we may yet be saved.’ 

44 Thinking of my Constance lying so ill upstairs, my heart 
leaped up at these words. 

44 4 What is your plan ? ’ I said. 4 1 can stay with you for 
some time. I can listen as long as you like.’ 

4 4 4 You hate poverty ? ’ said Jasper. 

44 4 Yes,’ I said, thinking of Constance, 4 1 hate it.’ 

44 4 If you will consent to my scheme ; if you will consent 
before you leave this room, we need not sink with Cooper, 
Cooper and Bennett.’ 

44 4 1 will listen to you,’ I said. 

“ ‘ You have always been so absorbed lately in your wife,’ 
continued Jasper, 4 that you have, I really believe, forgotten 
our father’s death : his funeral was last Thursday. Of course 
you could not attend it. After the funeral I read the will.’ 

44 4 Yes,’ I said, 4 1 had really forgotten my father’s will. 
He left us money ? ’ I said, 4 1 am glad ; it will keep us 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 


231 

from absolute want. Constance need not be hungry after 

all. 

“ My brother looked at me. 

“‘A little money has been left to us,’ he said, ‘ but so 
little that it must go with the rest. In the general crash 
those few thousands must also go. John, you remember 
when our father took that very large sum out of the business, 
he promised that we should be his heirs. It was a loan for 
his lifetime/ 

“ ‘ He had not married then,’ I said. 

“ ‘ No/ answered Jasper, ‘ he had not married. Now that 
he has married he has forgotten all but this second wife. 
He has left her, with the exception of a few thousands, the 
whole of that fine property. In short, he has left her a sum 
of money which is to realize an income of twelve hundred a 
year.’ 

“Yes/ I said, wearily. 

“Jasper looked at me very hard. I returned his gaze. 

“ ‘That money, if left to us, would save the firm. Quite 
absolutely save the Jinn in this present crisis / he said, slowly and 
emphatically. 

“‘Yes/ I said again. I was so innocent, so far from 
what I since became, at that moment, that I did not in the 
least understand my brother. ‘The money is not ours/ 
I said, seeing that his eyes were still fixed on me with a 
greedy intense light. 

“ ‘ If my father were alive now/ said Jasper, rising to his 
feet and coming to my side, ‘ if my father were alive now, he 
would break his heart, to see the business which he made 
with such pride and skill, come to absolute grief. If my 
father were still alive ; if that crash had come but a fortnight 
ago, he would say, ‘ Save the firm at any cost.” 

“‘But he is dead/ I said, ‘we cannot save the fi.rin. 
What do you mean, Jasper? I confess I cannot see to 
what you are driving.’ 

“ ‘ John/ said my brother, ‘ you are stupid. If our father 
could speak to us now/he would say, ‘ Take the money, all 
the money I have left, and save the firm of Harman 
Brothers.’ 

“ ‘ You mean/ I said, ‘you mean that we — we, are to steal 
that money, the money left to the widow, and the fatherless ? ’ 

“ I understood the meaning now. I staggered to my 
feet. I could have felled my brother to the ground. He was 
my brother, my <?nly brother; but at that moment, so 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


232 

true were my heart’s instincts to the good and right, that I 
loathed him. Before however, I could say a word, or utter 
a reproach, a message came to me from my wife. I was 
wanted in my wife’s room instantly, she was excited, she was 
worse. I flew away without a word. 

“ Come back again, I will wait for you here,’ called af- 
ter me my brother. 

“ I entered Constance’s 'room. I think she was a little 
delirious. She was still talking about money, about being 
hungry and having no money to buy bread. Perhaps a pre- 
sentiment of the evil news had come to her. I had to soothe, 
to assure her that all she desired should be hers. I even 
took my purse out and put it into her burning hand. At last 
she believed me ; she fell asleep with her hand in mine. I 
dared not stir from her ; and all the time as I sat far into the' 
night, I thought over Jasper’s words. They were terrible 
words, but I could not get them out of my head, they were 
burning like fire into my brain. At last Constance awoke ; 
she was better, and I could leave her. It was now almost 
morning. I went to my study, for I could not sleep. To my 
surprise, Jasper was still there. It was six hours since I had 
left him, but he had not stirred. 

“John,’ he said, seeing that I shrank from him, ‘you 
must hear me out. Call my plan by as ugly a name as you 
like, no other plan will save the firm. John, will you hear 
me speak ? ’ 

“‘Yes, I will hear you,’ I said. I sank down on the 
sofa. My head was reeling. Right and wrong seemed con- 
fused. I said to myself, My brain is so confused with grief 
and perplexity that it is no matter what Jasper says just now, 
for I shall not understand him. But I found to my surprise 
almost to my horror, that I understood with startling clear- 
ness every word. . This was Jasper’s plan. There were three 
trustees to the will ; I was one, my brother Jasper another, 
a third was a man by the name of Alexander Wilson. He 
was brother to my father’s .second wife. This Alexander 
Wilson I had never seen. Jasper had seen him once. He 
described him to me as a tall and powerful man with red 
hair. ‘ He is the other trustee,’ said my brother, ‘ and he 
is dead.’ • 

“ ‘ Dead ! ’ I said, starting. 

“ ‘ Yes, he is without doubt dead ; here is an account of 
his death.’ 

“Jasper then opened an Australian paper and showed me 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


233 

the name, also the full account of a man who answered in 
all particulars to the Alexander Wilson named as a third 
trustee. Jasper then proceeded to unfold yet further his 
scheme. 

“ That trustee being dead, we were absolute masters of 
the situation, we could appropriate that money. The widow 
knew nothing yet of her husband’s will ; she need never 
know. The sum meant for her was, under existing circum- 
stances, much too large. She should npt want, she should 
have abundance. But we too should not want. Were our 
father living he would ask us to do this. We should save 
ourselves and the great house of Harman Brothers. In 
short, to put the thing in plain language, we should, by 
stealing the widow’s money, save ourselves. By being faith- 
less to our most solemn trust, we could keep the filthy lucre. 
I will not say how I struggled. I did struggle for a day ; 
in the evening I yielded. I don’t excuse myself in the very 
least. In the evening I fell as basely as a man could fall. I be- 
lieve in my fall I sank even lower than Jasper. I said to 
him, 1 I cannot bear poverty, it will kill Constance, and 
Constance must not die ; but you must manage everything, 
I can go into no details ; I can never, never as long as I 
live, see that widow and child. You 'must see them, you 
must settle enough, abundance on them, but never mention 
their names to me. I can do the deed, but the victims must 
be dead to me. 

To all this Jasper promised readily enough. He prom- 
ised and acted. All went, outwardly, smoothly and well ; 
there was no hitch, no outward flaw, no difficulty, the firm 
was saved ; none but we two knew how nearly it had been 
engulfed in hopeless shipwreck. It recovered itself by 
means of that stolen money, and flew lightly once again over 
the waters of prosperity. Yes, our house was saved, and 
from that hour my happiness fled. I had money, money in 
abundance and to spare ; but I never knew another hour, 
day or night, of peace. I had done the deed to save my 
wife, but I found that, though God would give me that 
cursed wealth, He yet would take away my idol for whom I 
had sacrificed my soul. Constance only grew well enough 
to leave England. We wintered abroad, and at Cannes, sur- 
rounded by all that base money could supply, she closed her 
eyes. I returned home a widower, and the most wretched 
man on the face of the earth. Soon after, the Australian 
branch of our business growing and growing, Jasper found it 


234 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


well to visit that country. He did so, and stayed away many 
years. Soon after he landed, he wrote to tell me that he 
had seen the grave of Alexander Wilson ; that he had made 
many inquries about him, and that now there was not the 
least shadow of doubt that the other trustee was dead. He 
said that our last fears of discovery might now rest. 

“ Years went by, and we grew richer and richer ; all we 
put our hands to prospered. Money seemed to grow for us 
on every tree. I could give my one child all that wealth 
could suggest. She grew up unsullied by what was eating 
into me as a' canker. She was beautiful alike in mind and 
body ; she was and is the one pure and lovely thing left to 
me/ She became engaged to a good and honorable man. 
He had, it is true, neither money nor position, but I had 
learned, through all these long years of pain, to value such 
things at their true worth. Charlotte should marry where 
her heart was. I gave her leave to engage herself to Hinton. 
Shortly after that engagement, Jasper, my brother, returned 
from Australia. His presence, reminding me, as it did, day 
and night, of my crime, but added to my misery of soul. 

I was surprised, too, to see how easily what was dragging 
me to the very gate of hell seemed to rest on him. I could 
never discover, narrowly as I watched him, that he was any- 
thing but a happy man. One evening, after spending some 
hours in his presence, I fainted away quite suddenly. I was ( 
alone when this fainting fit overtook me. I believe I was 
unconscious for many hours. The next day I went to con- 
sult a doctor. Then and there, in that great physician’s 
consulting-room, I learned that I am the victim of an incur- 
able complaint ; a complaint that must end my life, must • 
end it soon, and suddenly. In short, the doctor said to me, 
not in words, but by look, by manner, by significant hand 
pressure, and that silent sympathy which speaks a terrible 
fact. ‘ Prepare to meet thy God.’ Since the morning I left 
the doctor’s presence I have been trying to prepare ; but be- 
tween God and me stands my sin. I cannot get a glimpse 
of God. I wait, and wait, but I only see the awful sin of 
my youth. In short, sir, I am in the far country where God 
is not.” 

“ To die so would be terrible,” said Mr. Home. 

“ To die so will be terrible, sir ; in, short, it will be hell.”'' 

“ Do not put it in the future tense, Mr. Harman, for you 
that day is past.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 




HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


235 

“ I mean that even now, though you know it not, you are 
no longer in the far country. You are the prodigal son if 
you like, but you are on the road back to the Father. You 
are on the homeward road, and the Father is looking out for 
you. When you come to die you will not be alone, the hand 
of God will hold yours, and the smile of a forgiving God will 
say to you, as the blessed Jesus said once to a poor sinful 
woman, who yet was not half as great a sinner as you are, 

‘ Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven thee.” 

“ You believe then in the 'greatness of my sin ? ” 

“ I believe, I know that your sin was enormous ; but so 
also is your repentance,” 

“ God knows I repent,” answered Mr. Harman. 

“Yes; when you asked me to visit you, and when you 
poured out that story in my ears, your long repentance and 
anguish of heart were beginning to find vent.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that you will make reparation.” 

“ Ay, indeed I am more than willing. Zacchaeus restored 
fourfold.” 

“ Yes, the road for you, straight to the bosom of the 
Father, is very prickly and full of sharp thorns. You have 
held a high character for honor and respectability. You 
have a child who loves you, who has thought you perfect. 
You must step down from your high pedestal. You must 
renounce the place you have held in your child’s heart. In 
short, you must let your only child, and also the cold, cen- 
sorious world, see you as God has seen you for so long.” 

“ I don’t mind the world, but — my. child — my only child,” 
said Mr. Harman, and now he put up his trembling hands 
and covered his face. “That is a very hard road,” he said 
after a pause. 

“ There is no other back to the Father,” answered the 
clergyman. 

“Well, I will take it then, for I must get back to Him. 
You are a man of God. I put myself in your hands. What 
am I to do ? ” 

“ You put yourself not into my hands, sir, but into 
the loving and merciful hands of my Lord Christ. The 
course before you is plain. You must find out those you 
have robbed ; you must restore all, and ask these wronged 
ones’ forgiveness. When they forgive, the peace of God 
will shine into your heart.” 


2^6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 

“ You mean the widow and the child. But I do not know 
anything of them ; I have shut my eyes to their fate.” 

“ The widow is dead, but the child lives ; I happen to 
know her ; I can bring her to you.” 

“ Can you ? How soon ? ” 

“ In an hour and a half from now if you like. I should 
wish you to rest in that peace I spoke of before morning. 
Shall I bring her to-night ? ” 

“ Yes, I will see her ; but first, first, will you pray with 
me ? ” 

Mr. Home knelt down at once. The gray-headed and 
sinful man knelt by his side. Then the clergyman hurried 
away to fetch his wife. 


CHAPTER LIII. 

THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 

It was very nearly midnight when Mr. Home, entering 
the sitting-room where his. wife waited up for him, asked 
her to come with him at once. 

“ There is a hansom at the door,” he said, “ put on your 
bonnet and come. I will tell you all as we drive along ; 
come at once, we have not a moment to lose.” 

Charlotte Home, accustomed as Home’s wife to imperative 
demands, only thought of a night’s nursing of some specially 
poor patient. She rose without a word, and in two minutes 
they were driving, as fast as a fleet horse could take them 
to Prince’s Gate. 

“Charlotte,” said her husband, taking her hand, “God 
has heard my prayer, God has given me the man’s soul.” 

“ Whose soul, my dearest ? ” 

“The soul of John Harman. Charlotte, I have prayed 
as I never prayed before in all my life for that guilty and 
troubled sinner’s soul. I have been in an agony for it ; it 
has seemed to me at times that for this lost and suffering 
brother I could lay down my very life. On Sunday last I 
went to conduct service in the small iron church. I tried 
the night before to prepare a sermon ; no thought would 
come to me. I tried at last to look up an old one ; no old 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


237 

sermon would commend itself. Finally I dropped all 
thought of the morrow’s sermon and spent the greater part 
of the night in prayer. My prayer was for this sinner, and 
it seemed to me, that as I struggled and pleaded, God the 
Father and God the Son drew nigh. I went to bed with a 
wonderfully close sensd of their presence. At morning 
prayers the next day, Miss Harman and her father entered 
the church. You may well look at me in surprise, Charlotte, 
but when I saw them I felt quiet enough ; I only knew that 
God had sent them. For the first time in my life I preached 
without note or written help. a I felt, however, at no loss for 
words ; my theme was the Prodigal Son. I thought only of 
Mr. Harman ; I went home and continued to pray for him. 
On Tuesday morning — that is,, this morning — he was again 
at the church. After the prayers were over he waited to 
speak to me : he asked me to visit him at his own house this 
evening. I went there ; I have been with him all the even- 
ing ; he told me his life story, the bitter story of his fall. I 
am now come for you, for he must confess to you — you are 
the wronged one.” 

“ I am going to see John Harman, my half-brother who 
has wronged me?” said Mrs. Home ; “I am going to him 
now without preparation ? Oh ! Angus, I cannot, not to- 
night, not to-night.” 

“ Yes, dear, it must be to-night ; if there is any hardness 
left in your heart it will melt when you see this sinner, whom 
God has forgiven.” 

“ Angus, you are all tenderness and love to him ; I can- 
not aspire to your nature, I cannot. To this man, who has 
caused such misery, and sin, I feel hard. Charlotte I pity, 
Charlotte I love ; but this man, this man who deliberately 
could rob my dead mother ! It is against human nature to 
feel very sorry for him.' 5 ’ 

“ You mean to tell me, Charlotte, that you refuse to for- 
give him ? ” 

“ No ; eventually you will conquer me ; but just now, I 
confess, my heart is not full of pity.” 

Mr. Home thought for a moment. He was pained by his 
wife’s want of sympathy. Then he reflected that she had 
not seen Mr. Harman/ It was plain, however, that they 
must not meet until her spirit towards him had changed. 

“ Do not stop at Prince’s Gate,” he called out to the 
cabby, “ drive on until I ask you to stop.” 

During the drive that followed, he told his wife Mr. Har- 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


238 

man’s story. He told it well, for when he had finished, 
Charlotte turned to him eyes which had shed some tears. 

“ Does Charlotte know of this ? ” she said. 

“I do not think so. Will you come to Mr. Harman 
now ? ” 

“ Yes. I will come on one condition ! ” 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ That I may see Charlotte afterwards.” 

“ I am sure that can be managed.” 

Then Mr. Home desired the cabby to stop at Prince’s 
Gate. A sleepy-looking servant waited up for them. He 
manifested no surprise at sight of the lady and gentleman at 
such an hour. Mr. Home took his wife’s hand, and the ser- 
vant led them straight to his master’s study. 

“ I have told her the story,” said Mr. Home ; “ she is 

your father’s child, she comes to ” Here the clergyman 

paused and looked at his wife, he wanted the word “ forgive ” 
to come from her own lips. Mrs. Home had grown white to 
her very lips. Now instead of replying, she fell upon her 
knees and covered her face. 

“ Charlotte,” said Mr. Harman, “ can you do what this 
clergyman wants ? Can you forgive the sin ? ” There was 
no answer ; Mrs. Home was sobbing aloud. “ I have robbed 
you, I have robbed you most cruelly. My dying father asked 
me to be good to you ; I have been worse than cruel. You 
see before you an old, old man, as great a sinner as can be 
found on God’s earth. Can you forgive me ? Dare I ask it ? 
At last, at last I make full reparation ; I repent me, in dust 
and ashes ; I repent, and I restore all fourfold.” But here 
Charlotte Home had risen suddenly to her feet. She came 
up close to Mr. Harman, and taking his hand raised it to her 
lips. 

“ My husband has told me all. I, I quite forgive you,” 
she said. 

Mr. Harman glanced at the clergyman. “ Your hus- 
band ? ” he said. 

“ Yes ; she is my wife,” answered Mr. Home. “ Sir f you 
heard my wife say that she quite forgives. You may go to 
rest to-night, with a very peaceful heart; the peace' of God 
which passes all understanding may encompass your pillow 
to-night. It is late and you have gone through much, may I 
go with you to your room ? There will be many explanations 
yet to make ; but though a clergyman, I am also in some 
measure a physician. I see you can go through no more 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 239 

emotion to-night, rest satisfied that all explanations can wait 
till to-morrow.” 

“ I will go with you,” answered Mr. Harman, “ but may 
I first thank your wife ? ” „ Charlotte Home’s bonnet had 
fallen off as she knelt on the floor, now suddenly a withered 
and trembling hand was placed on her head. “ God bless 
you ! Even from a sinner like me, such words from a full 
heart must be heard.” 

“ Ay,” said Mr. Home, in a loud, exultant voice, “ the 
Prince of peace and forgiveness has come into this house to- 
night.” 


CHAPTER LIV. 
charlotte’s room. 

Mr. Home and Mr. Harman went away together, and 
Charlotte was left alone in the study. By the profound still- 
ness which now reigned in the house she guessed that every 
one had gone to bed. The servant who had admitted them 
at so late an hour had looked sleepy as he had done so. 
Doubtless Mr. Harman had desired him not to wait longer. 
Charlotte felt there was no use in ringing a bell. She 
scarcely knew her way about this great house. Nevertheless 
she must find Charlotte ; she could not wait until the morn- 
ing to throw her arms round her neck. She took one of the 
candles from the mantelpiece and began her tour through 
the silent house. She felt strangely timid as she commenced 
this midnight pilgrimage. The softly-carpeted stairs echoed 
back no footfall ; she passed door after door. At last she 
recognized Charlotte’s own private sitting-room, she had been 
there two or three times, but had never seen the room where 
her friend slept. A corridor, however, ran directly from this 
sitting-room, and Charlotte saw a closed door at the further 
end. “ That must be the room,” she said to herself, and 
she went straight towards it. The door was closed, but 
Charlotte heard a faint sound within. Instantly on hearing 
it she knocked lightly, but distinctly. There was a quick 
sound of hurried and surprised feet, and Charlotte Harman 
opened the door. Her eyes were heavy and red, as though 


240 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


she had been weeping. Her face was pale. She had not 
begun to undress. 

“ Charlotte ; . Charlotte Home!” she exclaimed. “Oh, 
what is wrong ? My father ! ” 

“ Nothing is wrong, deav Charlotte, dear, dear Charlotte ; 
but may I come in ? I have a great deal to tell you.” 

“ Oh, I shall be glad ! but how astonished I am to see 
you. I could not sleep. Yes, come in, you shall keep me 
company. Charlotte, you have been crying. Charlotte, 
there is something wrong.” 

“ You may well be surprised to see me here,” said Mrs. 
Home , “ but, strange as it may seem, things are more right 
than wrong. My husband came first, then he brought me.” 

“ Yes, I saw Mr. Home early in the evening. I saw him' 
go into my father’s study. When he went away I went there 
myself ; but the door was locked, and my father called out 
from within, ‘ Not to-night, my child ; don’t sit up for me, 
come to me in the morning, I would rather be alone to-night.’ 
He never before refused to see me to say good-night. I 
went to my room. I could not rest. Everything seems very 
dark. I have been crying, and now you have come. Oh, 
Charlotte ! what is the meaning of it all ? ” 

“ The meaning is good, Charlotte ; but good or bad, you 
have to thank yourself for it. Why did you take your father 
to my husband’s church on Sunday ? ” 

“ He came to me on Sunday morning,” answered Miss 
Harman. “ He said he would like to go to church with me. 
He never did go to church with me — never, for many months. 
I asked him where he would go. He said he w'ould leave it 
to me. Then it flashed across me that he did not know Mr. 
Hofne, also that I had never heard Mr. Home preach. I re- 
solved to go to his church. We drove to Kentish Town. I 
made a few inquiries. I found out the little church where 
your husband told the people of his congregation how best 
to live, how best to die.. ,Aly Charlotte ! he did preach to 
us. What a man he is ! ” 

“ He realizes the absolute daily presence of God more 
perfectly than any man I ever met,” answered the wife. 
“ My dear, it was God himself led you to my husband’s church 
on Sunday. Your father went there again to-day. After the 
service he stopped to speak to Angus. He asked him to 
come to him this evening. This evening he told my 
husband all ; all the story of his sin, his repentance. Angus 
heard all, and when it was over he sent for me. I saw your 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


241 


father. Charlotte,' your father may have been a sinner, but 
with such sinners, as he was once, the New Jerusalem will be 
filled by and by. Ah ! thank God for the peace I saw on his 
face before I left him. Do you know that he put his hand on 
my head and blessed me. Angus is with him now, and I 
have come to you.” 

“My father has told all!” said Charlotte Harman. Her 
face could scarcely grow any whiter. She made no further 
exclamation, but sat quiet. Charlotte Home, having told her 
story, watched her face. Suddenly, with tears springing to 
ber eyes, she turned to the wife and mother who stood by her 
side. 

“ Charlotte, how hard my heart has been ! I have passed 
through some dreadful weeks. Oh ! how heavy was my 
burden, how heavy was my heart ! My heart was growing 
very hard; but the hardness has gone now. Now, Charlotte, 
I believe, I believe fully what your little Harold said to me 
'some weeks ago.” 

“ What did he say to you, dearest? ” 

“ He said that Jesus Christ loved me very much. Yes, I 
believe Jesus does love me very much. Oh, Charlotte ! do 
you know that I am tired and rested, and I want to sleep al- 
together. Will you lie down beside me ? You will not leave 
me to-night ? ” 

“ No, darling ; I will not leave you to-night.” 


CHAPTER LV. 

HOW SANDY WILSON SPEAKS OUT HIS MIND. 

Early in the morning, the father and daughter met. Not 
very many words passed between them. Mr. Plarman knew 
that Mrs. Home had told Charlotte all. Now, coming to his 
side, she put her arms about him, and knelt, looking into his 
face. 

“ Charlotte, you know what I tiave been,” he said, 

“ Father, I know what you are now,” she answered. 

After these few words, she would scarcely allow him to 
speak again, for he was very weak, too weak to leave his bed ; 
but later on, in the course of the day, they had a long talk 
together, and Charlotte told her father of her own suffering 


242 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


during the past weeks. There was no longer need of con- 
cealment between them, and Charlotte made - none. It was 
a very few days later that two trustees of the late Mr. 
Harman’s will saw each other for the first time. 

Sandy Wilson had often looked forward to the moment 
when he could speak out his mind as to the enormity of the 
crime committed by Mr. Harman. Hitherto, this worthy man 
had felt that in this respect circumstances had been hard on 
him. His Daisy, his pretty little gentle sister, had been 
treated as hardly, as cruelly, as woman could be treated, and 
yet the robber — for was he not just a common robber ? — had 
got off scot free ; he was to get off scot free to the very end ; 
he was to be let die in peace ; and afterwards, his innocent 
child, his only daughter, must bear the brunt of his misdeeds. 
She must be put to grief and shame, while he, the one on 
whose head the real sin lay, escaped. Sandy felt that it 
would have been some slight relief to his wounded feelings 
if he could find some one to whom he could thoroughly and 
heartily abuse Mr. Harman. But even this satisfaction was 
denied him. ^ Mr. Home was a man who would listen to abuse 
of none ; ancl even Charlotte, though her eyes did flash when 
his name was mentioned, even she was simply silent, and to 
all the rest of the world Sandy must keep the thing a secret. 

There was no doubt whatever that when, the day after 
Mr. Harman’s confession, the Homes came to Uncle Sandy 
and told him, not only all, but also that at any moment he 
might receive a summons to visit Mr. Harman, he felt a 
sense of exultation ; also that hisexulation was caused, not by 
the fact that his niece would now get back her own, for he had 
supplied her immediate need for money, but by the joyful 
sense that at last, at last, he, Sandy, could speak out his full 
mind. He could show this bad man, about whom every one 
was so strangely, so absurdly silent, what he though}; of his 
conduct to his dear little sister. He went away to Prince’s 
Gate, when at last the summoms came, bristling over with a 
quite delightful sense of power. How well he would speak ! 
how cleverly he would insert the arrow of remorse into that 
cruel heart ! As he entered the house he was met by Miss 
Harman. She held out her hand to him without a word, and 
led him to the door of her father’s study. Her eyes, however, 
as she looked at him for a moment, were eloquent. Those 
eyes of hers had exercised a power over him in Somerset 
House ; they were full of pleading now. He went into Mr. 
Harman’s presence softened, a little confused, and with his 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


243 

many excellent to the point, and scathing, remarks running 
riot in his brain. 

Thus it came to pass that Sandy said no word of reproach 
to the broken-down man who greeted him. Nay, far from 
reproaching, he felt himself sharing in the universal pity. 
Where God’s hand was smiting hard, how could man dare to 
raise his puny arm ? 

The two trustees, meeting for the first time after all these 
years, talked long over that neglected, that unfulfilled trust, 
and steps were put in train to restore to Charlotte Home what 
had for so many years been held back from her. This large 
sum, with all back interest, would -make the once poor Char- 
lotte very rich indeed. There would still be, after all was 
settled, something left for Charlotte Harman, but the posi- 
tions of the two were now virtually reversed. 

“ There is one thing which still puzzles me,” said Mr. 
Harman before they parted. “ Leaving my terrible share in 
this matter alone, my brother and I could never have carried 
out our scheme if you had not been supposed to be dead. 
How is it you gave no sign of your existence for three and 
twenty years ? My brother even wrote me w r ord from Aus- 
tralia that he had himself stood on your grave.” 

“ He stood on the grave of Sandy Wilson, but never on 
mine,” answered the other trustee. “There was a fellow 
bearing my name, who was with me in the Bush. He was 
the same age. He was like me too in general outline ; big, 
with red hair and all that kind of thing. His name was put 
into the papers, and I remember wondering if the news would 
reach home, and if my little Daisy — bless her ! — would think 
it was me. I was frightfully poor at the time, I had scarcely 
sixpence to bless myself with, and somehow, your father, 
sir, though he did eventually trust me, as circumstances 
proved, yet he gave me to understand that in marrying the 
sister he by no means intended to take the brother to his 
bosom. I said to myself, ‘A poor lost dog like Sandy may 
as well appear to be dead to those at home. I love no one 
in England but my little Daisy, and she does not need me, 
she has abundance without me.’ So I ceased to write. I 
had gone to a part of the country where even an English 
paper reached us but once or twice a year. I heard nothing 
of the old home ; and by degrees I got out of the habit of 
writing. I was satisfied to be considered dead. I did wrong, 
I confess.” 

“ By coming back, by proclaiming your existence, you 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


2 44 

could have exposed me years ago,” said Mr. Harman ; “ how 
I dreaded exposure ; how little I knew, when it did come, 

that it would fall lightly in comparison with ” 

“ What ? ” asked Wilson. 

“ The awful frown of God’s displeasure. Man, to be shut 
away from God through your own sin is to be in hell. I have 
dwelt there for three and twenty years. Until two nights 
ago, I have known no peace ; now, I know God can forgive 
even such a sin as mine.” 

“ I believe you have suffered, Mr. Harman,” answered 
Wilson. “ For the matter of that, we are all poor sinners. 
God have mercy upon us all ! ” 

“Amen,” said Mr. Harman. 

And that was all the reproof Sandy ever found in his 
heart to give to his fellow trustee. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

MRS. HOME’S DREAM. 

Still, there was a weight on Charlotte Home’s mind. 
Much had been given to her, so much that she could scarcely 
believe herself to be the same woman, who a few short 
months ago had pawned her engagement ring to buy her 
little son a pair of shoes. She was now wealthy beyond her 
wildest dreams ; she was wealthy not only in money but in 
friends. Charlotte Harman was her almost daily companion. 
Charlotte Harman clung to her with an almost passionate love. 
Uncle Sandy, too, had made himself, by his cheerfulness, his 
generosity, his kindness of nature, a warm place in her affec- 
tions ; and Mr. Harman saw her more than once, and she 
found that she could love even Mr. Harman. Then— how 
well, how beautiful her children looked ! How nice it was 
to see them surrounded by those good things of life which 
despise them as some people will, still add charms to those who 
possess theip ! Above all, how happy her dear husband was ! 
Angus Home’s face was like the sun itself, during the days 
which followed Mr. Harman’s confession. This sunshine 
with him had nothing to say to the altered and improved 
circumstances of his life ; but it had a great deal to say to 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


24 s 

the altered circumstances of his mind. God had most sig- 
nally, most remarkably, heard his prayer. He had given to 
him the soul for which he pleaded. Through all eternity 
that suffering, and once ’so sinful, soul was safe. Mr. Home 
rejoiced over that redeemed soul as one who finds great spoil. 
Added love to God filled his grateful heart ; his faith in God 
became more and more, day by day, a mighty power. Thus 
Charlotte Home was surrounded by as much sunshine as often 
visits a human being in this mortal life ; yet still this unreason- 
able woman was discontented. The fact was, success had 
made her bold. She had obtained what her heart had pined 
for. She wanted another little drop of bliss to complete her 
overflowing cup. Charlotte Home was unselfish in her joy. 
There was a shadow on another’s brow. She wanted that 
shadow to depart ; in short, she wanted Hinton and Charlotte 
to meet ; not only to meet, but as quickly as possible to 
marry. Charlotte’s heart was still with this lover whom she 
had given up, and who seemed to have forsaken her. Mrs. 
Home saw this, though on the subject of Hinton Charlotte 
still refused to speak. She said once, and only once, to her 
friend : 

“ We have parted, we have most absolutely parted. There 
is no use now looking back on the past ; he must never share 
my disgrace. Yes, my dear and beloved father has repented 
nobly : but the disgrace remains. He must never share it. 
He sees the wisdom of this himself, so we will not speak of 
him, dear Charlotte ; I can bear it best so.” 

This little speech was made with great firmness ; but 
there was a strained look about the lips, and a sorrow about 
the eyes which Mrs. Home understood very well. She must 
not speak, but no one could prevent her acting. She re- 
solved to leave no stone unturned to bring these two to- 
gether again. In doing this she would act for the good of 
two whom she loved, for Hinton was also very dear to her. 
She could never forget those nights when he sat by the bed 
of her almost dying child. She could never forget the 
prompt interference which saved that child’s life; She had 
learned enough of his character, during those few weeks 
which they had spent together, to feel sure that no disgrace 
such as Charlotte feared would influence him to cause her 
pain. It is true she could not in any measure account for 
his absence and his silence ; but she was quite wise enough 
and quite clever enough to believe that both could be satis- 
factorily accounted for. She could, however, do nothing 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


246 

without seeing Hinton. How could she see him ? She had 
written to his chambers, she had written to his lodgings ; 
from both addresses had the letters been returned. She 
thought of advertising. She lay awake at night trying to de- 
vise some scheme. At last one night she had a dream ; so 
far curious, in that it conducted her to the desired end. She 
dreamt that Hinton came to Waterloo station, not to remain 
in London, but to pass through to another part of England. 
There was nothing more in her dream ; nevertheless, she re- 
solved to go to that station on the next day. Her dream 
had not even pointed to any particular hour. She looked in 
Bradshaw, saw when a great express from the south was 
due, and started off on what might truly be called a wild- 
goose chase. 

Nevertheless, instinct, if nothing higher, had guided 
Charlotte Home ; for the first person she saw stepping out 
of a carriage of this very train was Hinton. She saw Hin- 
ton, he also saw her. 

“ You must come with me,” she said, going up to him 
and laying her hand on his arm. “ You must come with me, 
and at once, for God has "sent me to you.” 

“ But I cannot,” he answered, “ I am catching another 
train at Euston. I am going on special business to Scot- 
land. It is important. I cannot put it off. I am ever so 
sorry ; but I must jump into a cab at once.” He held out 
his hand as he spoke. 

Mrs. Home glanced into his face. His face was changed ; 
it was pale and worn. There was a hard look about both 
eyes and mouth, which both altered and considerably spoiled 
his expression. 

“ I will not keep you if you still wish to go, after hearing 
my story,” answered Mrs. Home ; “ but there will be room 
for two in your hansom. You do not object to my driving 
with you to Euston ? ” 

Hinton could not say he objected to this, though in his 
heart he felt both annoyed and surprised. 

As they were driving along, Mrs. Home said, — 

“ Have you heard anything lately of Mr. Harman ? ” 

To this Hinton replied, “ I have not ; and pardon me, 
Mr. Harmon does not interest me.” 

“Ah!” said Mrs. Home, “he interests me very much. 
He— he told my husband a strange tale— a tale about him- 
self.” 


HOIV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


247 

“ Did he confess his guilt ? I know that he is a very 
sinful man.” 

“ He has been a great sinner, but he has repented. He 
has confessed that early and terrible sin of his youth. He 
has not only confessed, but he is taking steps to make full 
reparation.” 

“ Indeed ! then you will come into your rights ? Let me 
congratulate you.” 

“ You knew of his sin ? You knew what his sin was Mr. 
Hinton ? ” 

“ Yes, I knew.” 

“ Charlotte had hoped to keep that disgrace from you.” 

“Ah!” 

“ She gave you another reason for breaking off her en- 
gagement ? ” 

“ Yes, a weak and futile one. She could not expect me 
to believe it. I did what she had but done before me. I 
went to Somerset House and saw that will which has been 
so greatly abused.” 

“ She never knew that.” 

“ Pardon me, she did.” 

“I fear I 'must be rude enough to contradict you. She 
said most distinctly that you were fully satisfied with the 
reasons she had given for breaking off the engagement, that 
perhaps you might never now learn what her father had 
done.” 

Hinton looked at his companion in some perplexity. 

“But I wrote to her,” he said. “I wrote a letter which, 
it seemed to me,, any woman who had a spark even of kind- 
ness would have answered. In that letter, I told her that I 
held her to her promise ; that I knew all ; that even if she 
did not write to me I would call and try to see her. She 
never replied to my letter, and when, after waiting for 
twenty-four hours, I went to the house, she absolutely refused 
to see me.” 

“ She never knew, you called,” answered Mrs. Home, 
“and she never got your letter.” 

“ Good heavens ! how do you know ? ” 

“ I know her too well ; but I will ask her directly.” 

Hinton was silent. 

After a short pause, Mrs. Home broke out passionately, — 

“ How dare you insinuate doubts of so noble a creature ? ” 

“ I could only believe facts.” 

“ Has a letter never gone astray ? Has a letter never 


HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


248 

failed to reach the hands it was meant for ? Mr. Hinton, I 
am ashamed of you/’ 

“ If you can prove that she never got it ? ” 

“ I know she never got it. She is changed ; her heart 
is half broken. But I will prove it. I will go to her at once. 
Are you still going to Scotland ? ” 

“ I need not go until I hear from you. You have aston- 
ished me greatly.” 

“ Then drive to my house. Ah ! you do not know our 

new address ; it is ; wait for me there, I will be with 

you in an hour or so.” 


CHAPTER LVII. 

JOHN. 

Hinton went to Mrs. Home’s house. The children were 
out, Mr. Home was not visible. Anne, now converted into a 
neat parlor-maid, received him with broad grins of pleasure. 
She ushered him into the pretty, newly-furnished drawing- 
room, and asked him to wait for her mistress. 

“ Missis ’ull be back afore long,” she said, lingering a 
little to readjust the blinds, and half hoping, half expecting, 
Hinton to make some surprised and approving remark on 
the changed circumstances of the Homes! surroundings. 

He made none, however ; and Anne, with a slight sigh, 
left him alone. When she did so he rose to his feet and be- 
gan to pace quickly up and down the room. After a time, 
half an hour or so, he pulled out his watch. Yes, he had al- 
ready lost that express to the north. A good piece of busi- 
ness would probably be also lost. But what matter ! beyond 
ascertaining the fact that he had missed his train, he did not 
give the affair another thought. To tell the truth, his mind 
was agitated, his heart was full ; hope once more peeped 
upon the horizon of his being. A month ago — for it was 
quite a month* ago now — he had received as sharp and cruel 
a shock as falls on most men. Fortune, love, and trust had 
all been dashed from the lips which were already so close 
to the charmed cup that its very flavor was apparent. The 


HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


249 


cup had never reached the lips of Hinton. Fortune was 
gone, love was gone ; worst of all, yes, hardest of all, trust 
was gone. The ideal he had worshipped was but an ideal. 
The Charlotte he had loved was unworthy. She had re- 
jected him, and cruelly. His letter was unanswered. He 
himself was refused admittance. Then his pride had risen 
in revolt. If she could so treat him, he would sue no longer. 
If she could so easily give him up, he would bow to her de- 
cision. She was not the Charlotte of his love and his dream. 
But what matter 1 Other men had come to an ideal and 
found it but a clay idol. He would recover: he would not 
let his heart break. He found, however, that he could not. 
stay in London. An uncle of his, his only living near rela- 
tion, was a solicitor in the south of England. Hinton went 
to visit his uncle. He received him warmly and kindly. He 
not only promised him work, but kept his word. Hinton took 
chambers in a fashionable part of the town, and already was 
not idle. But he was a changed man. That shattered 
trust was making his spirit very hard. The cynical part of 
him was being fostered. Mrs. Home, when she looked into 
his face, was quite right in saying to herself that his ex- 
pression had not improved. Now, however, again, as he 
paced up and down, soft thoughts were visiting him. . For 
what doubts, what blessed doubts had Mrs. Home not insin- 
uated ? How irregularly his heart beat : how human he felt 
once more ! Ah ! what sound was that ? A cab had drawn up 
at the door. HTnton flew to the window ; he saw the soft 
fawn shade of a lady’s dress, he could not see the lady. Of 
course, it was Mrs. Home returning. What news did she 
bring ? How he longed to fly to meet her ! He did not 
do so, however ; his feet felt leaden weighted. He leant 
against the window, with his back to the door. His 
heart beat harder and harder ; he clenched his hands hard. 
There was a quick step running up the stairs, a quick and 
springing step. The drawing-room door was opened and 
then shut. He heard the rustle of soft drapery, then a hand 
was laid on his arm. The touch of that hand made him 
tremble violently. He turned his head, and — not Charlotte 
Home — but his Charlotte, beautiful and true, stood by his 
side. Their eyes met. 

“ John ! ” she said. 

“ My own, my darling ! ” he answered. 

In an instant they were clasped in each other’s arms. 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND . 


250 

That swift glance, which each had given the other, had told 
all. 

******* 

“John, I never got your letter.” 

“No!” 

“John, you doubted me.” 

“ I did, I confess it ; I confess it bitterly. But not now, 
not after one glance into your eyes.” 

“John, what did you say in that letter ? ” 

“ That I held you to your sacred promise ; that I refused 
to give you up.” 

“But — but — you did not know my true reason. You did 
not know why — why ” 

“ Yes, I knew all. Before I wrote that letter I went to 
Somerset house. I read your grandfather’s will.” 

“ Ah ! did you — did you indeed ? Oh ! what a dreadful 
time I have gone through.” 

“ Yes, but it is over now. Mrs. Home told me how your 
father had repented. The sin is forgiven. The agony is 
past. What God forgets don’t let us remember. Lottie, 
cease to think of it. It is at an end, and so are our troubles. 
I am with you again.' Oh ! how nearly I had lost you.” 

Charlotte’s head was on her lover’s shoulder. v His arm 
was round her. Charlotte, I repeat what I said in that let- 
ter which never reached you. I refuse to absolve you from 
your promise. I refuse to give you up. Do you hear ? I 
refuse to give you up.” 

“But, John, I am poof now.” 

“ Poor or rich, you are yourself, and you are mine. Char- 
lotte, do'you hear me ? If you hear me answer me. Tell 
me that you are mine.” 

“I am yours, John ” she said simply, and she raised her 
lips to kiss him. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 

A month after — just one month after, there was a very 
quiet wedding ; a wedding performed in the little church at 
Kentish Town. The Ceremony was thought by the few who 
witnessed it to be, even for that obscure part, a very poor 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


25 1 


one. There were no bridesmaids, or white dresses, or. in- 
deed, white favors in any form. The bride wore the plainest 
gray travelling suit. She was given away by her gray-headed 
father ; Charlotte Home stood close behind her ; Mr. Home 
married the couple, and Uncle Sandy acted as best man. 
Surely no tamer ending could come to what was once meant 
to be such a brilliant affair. Immediately after the cere- 
mony, the bride and bridegroom went away for' two days and 
Mrs. Home went back to Prince’s Gate with Mr. Harman, 
for she had promised Charlotte to take care of her father un- 
til her return. 

Many changes were contemplated. The grand house in 
Prince’s gate was to be given up, and the Hintons were to 
live in that large southern town where Hinton was already 
obtaining a young barrister’s great ambition — briefs. Mr. 
Harman, while' he lived, was to find his home with his son 
and daughter. 

Mr. Harman was now a peaceful and happy man, and so 
improved was his health — so had the state of his mind af- 
fected his body, that though he could never hope for cure of 
his malady, yet Sir George Anderson assured him that with 
care he might live for a very much longer time than he had 
thought possible a few months before. Thus death stood 
back, not altogether thrust aside, but biding its time. 

On the morning of Charlotte’s wedding-day there arrived 
a letter from Jasper: 

“ So you have told all ? ” he said to his brother. “ Well, 
be it so. From the time I knew the other trustee was not 
dead and had reached England, I felt that discovery was at 
hand. No, thank you ; I shall never come back to England. 
If you can bear poverty and public disgrace, I cannot. I 
have some savings of my own, and on these I can live during 
my remaining days. Good-bye — we shall never meet again 
on earth ! I repent, do you say, of my share ? Yes, the bus- 
iness turned out badly in the end. What a heap of money 
those Homes will come in for ! Stolen goods don’t prosper 
with a man ! So it seems. Well, I shall stay out of England.” 

Jasper was true to his word. Not one of those who 
knew him in this tale ever heard of him again. 

Yes, the Homes were now very rich ; but both Mr. and 
Mrs. Home were faithful stewards of what was lent them 
from the Lord. Nor did the Hintons miss what was taken 
from them. It is surely enough to say of Charlotte and her 
husband that they were very happy. 


252 


HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 


But as sin, however repented of, must yet reap its own re- 
ward, so in this instance the great house of Harman Brothers 
ceased to exist. To pay that unfulfilled trust the business 
had to be sold. It passed into the hands of strangers, and 
was continued under another name. No one now remembers 
even its existence. 


THE END. 


ENOCH MGEGAFS SONS? 




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False Hopes;' 

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268. When the Ship Comes 

Home 10 

269. One False, both Fair.. .20 

270. Mudfog Papers 10 

271. My Novel, by Bulwer- 

Lytton. 3 parts CO 

272. Conquest of Granada.. .20 

273. Sketches byBoz 20 

274. A Christmas Carol 15 

275. lone Stewart, Linton.. .20 

276. Harold, Lytton, Parti .15 

Do., Part II 15 

277. Dora Thorne 20 

278. Maid of Athens 20 

279. The Conquest of Spain .10 

280. Fitzboodie Papers 10 

281. Bracebridge Hall 20 

282. The Uncommercial 

Traveler 20 

283. Roundabout Papers ... .20 

284. Rossmoyne, Duchess. .20 

285. A Legend of the Rhine .10 

286. Cox’s Diary 10 

287. Beyond Pardon, ,20 

288. Somebody’s Luggage, 

and Mrs. Lirnper’s 
Lodgings 10 

289. Godolphin, Lytton 20 

290. Salmagundi, Irving 20 

291. Famous Funny Fel- 

lows, Clemens 20 

292. Irisb Sketches 20 

293. The Battle of Life 10 

294. Pilgrims of the Rhine .15 

295. Random Shots, Adeler .20 

296. Men’s Wives 10 

297. Mystery of Edwin 

Drood, by Dickens. . . .20 

298. Reprinted Pieces from 

C. Dickens 20 

299. Astoria, by W. Irving. .20 

300. Novels by Eminent 

Hands 10 

301. Spanish Voyages 20 

302. No Thoroughfare 10 

303. Character Sketches... .10 

304. Christmas Books 20 


305. A Tour on the Prairies ,10 

306. Ballads of Thackeray.. .15 

307. Yellowplush Papers... .10 

308. Life of Mahomet, P’t I .15 

Do., Part II 15 

309. Sketches and Travels 

in London, Thack’ray .10 

310. Life of Goldsmith 20 

311. Capt. Bonneville 20 

312. Golden Girls, Alan Muir .20 

313. English Humorists... .15 

314. Moorish Chronicles... .10 

315. Winifred Power 20 

316. Great Hoggarty Dia- 

mond 10 

317. Pausanias, Lytton 15 

318. The N®w Abelard 20 

319. A Real Queen 20 

320. The Rose and the Ring .20 

321. Wolfert’s Roost, Irving .10 

322. Mark Seaworth .20 



Vitalized Phos-phites, 

COMPOSED OF TH5® KERVE-GI¥IMG PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM. 

It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion; relieves 
Lassitude and Neuralgia; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite- 
ment, or excessive brain fatigue ; strengthens a failing memory, and 

f lives renewed vigor in ail diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility, 
t is tho only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. 


* It aids wonderfully in the mental and bodily growth of infante and 
children. Under its use the teeth come easier , the bones grow better , the skin 
plumper and smoother; the brain acquires more readily, and rests and sleeps 
mow sweetly . An ill-fed brain learris no lessons, and is excusable if peevish 
It gwes a happier and better childhood. 


** It is with the utmost confidence that I recommend this excellent pre- 
if paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, I do more | 
i ^ihan recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in sev* I 
eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived from I 
its use. I have recently watched its effects on a young friend who has 
suffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Phos- 
phites for a fortnight she said to me; * I feel another person; it is a pleas- 
ure to live.’ Many hard-working men and women— especially those engaged I 
in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and other 


destructive stimulants, if they would have recourse to a remedy so simple 
and so efficacious." s* r £1* 

04 y H jr Emilt Faithfcul. 

Physicians have prescribed over 600,000 Packages because thet 
e»ow its Composition, that it is not a secret remedy, aid 

THAT THE FORMULA IS PRINTED ON EVERY LABEL 
For Sale by Drugglsta or by Mall, 

7. CROSBY CO., 661 and 666 Sixth Avenue, New York. 
















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